


Angels In The Belfry

by Ribbons_Undone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Gay Love Story, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Cas the Bellboy, Chinatown, Christmas, Costumes, Courtship, Crossdressing, Dating, Dean in a French Maid outfit, Dean the Businessman, Ducks, F/F, F/M, Fishing, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Ice Skating, Kissing, M/M, Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Operas, Pie, Proposals, Slow Burn, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Thanksgiving, flirtatious dean, halloween party, pie sex, reserved Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 220,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25844206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbons_Undone/pseuds/Ribbons_Undone
Summary: Supernatural AU: Dean is the son of a wealthy businessman on a trip to New York City to ‘learn the family business’. Dean’s not really sure that’s what he wants—he’d much rather party until the sun comes up. That all changes when he meets a man who throws his world into a tailspin—Castiel, the hotel bellboy who underneath that enticing red coat is so much more than he seems. Now Dean's got his work cut out for him--he's got to somehow prove to Cas that he's more than what the tabloids say about him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle/John Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 76
Kudos: 98





	1. Part I: Meeting

* * *

They had just arrived at The Plaza Hotel and Dean was leaning against the check-in counter when his dad got a call. John answered his cell and motioned with a finger to the hotel clerk—a pretty, red-headed thing—shooting Dean a half-apologetic look before stalking away to conduct business in private. Dean glared after him. It was so typical. Leave him here to deal with things like he was the fucking butler rather than son and soon-to-be junior partner. They were on this trip so that Dean could ‘learn the ropes’ about running the family business, but so far he hadn’t done much of anything besides follow his dad around like a well-trained show dog.

He slid the sleek platinum card over the counter to the clerk and tried very hard not to take out his frustration on the poor girl.

“Room under Winchester, John,” he provided, a little gruffly. “I believe we have one of the suites,” he added.

There was a few seconds of soft clacking as the clerk looked up the name.

“Yes, Mr. Winchester. It seems you are in our Ellington Park Suite. The room is ready for you.”

“Good.”

Dean glanced across the lobby. His father was still on the phone, barking orders into the tiny receiver. From the looks of things, he would be awhile.

“That’s Mr. Winchester over there,” Dean said, nodding to his dad. His mood instantly changed to flirtatious as he looked back. “I’m Dean, The Lowly Son.” He grinned at the clerk, who blushed a little at his obvious display of charm. “Think you can give the old man a key when he gets off the phone? I don’t feel like waiting for him.”

“I think that can be arranged,” the clerk said with a bit of a grin.

“Good,” he said again, smiling coyly at her.

It had been a long, trying day, and to be honest Dean’s patience with his dad—and pretty much everything else—was shot. They’d flown in early from California for an immediate meeting with some bigwig uptown. The airline had lost his luggage which had been an added headache to the morning. After an hour of arguing at the customer service desk, they finally located it—in _Kansas_ of all places. They had just barely made the meeting. Then it had been a long, arduous lunch directly following with some sleazebag who was obviously trying to get his greasy hands on some hard-won Winchester cash.

Hey, he could be pissed at his old man, but Dean would admit any day that his dad was a hard worker. Business Insider didn’t call them _The WINchesters_ for nothing.

“The airport is supposed to deliver my luggage sometime today or tomorrow,” Dean told the check-in clerk. He gave her a look that said ‘ain’t life a bitch.’ “Can you have someone bring it up when it arrives?”

“Let me just put a note in here,” the clerk said.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” Dean said. He watched as the clerk hit a few more buttons.

“You’re all set, sir,” the clerk said. She motioned the bellboy over to help with his father’s bags.

“Oh, no, that’s okay, I’ve got…”

Dean trailed off as the bellboy stopped in front of him and so did time, just a little.

“…it.”

Dean took a deep breath in through his nose. The memory of that morning’s pandemonium was abruptly forgotten. The bellboy was giving him a polite look with just the slightest tilt of his head, possibly wondering why Dean had gone silent. He was only slightly shorter than Dean, with a wide mouth and pale lips and bright, clear blue eyes. He was wearing the traditional hotel bellboy uniform—black pants and ridiculous red coat with black stitching. His short mop of brown hair was neatly combed to the side and he was freshly shaven—both to meet with the strict dress policy of the hotel, though Dean wondered how he would look in normal attire, with his hair messed up just a little and his face sporting a 5 o’clock shadow. Dean also wondered how those wide, pale lips would taste after a few drinks and possibly something sweet to eat, like pie.

“Uh, on second thought, I could use the extra hand,” Dean said, snapping out of the fantasy. His eyes flitted down to the nametag pinned to the front of the man’s jacket. “Cas.”

He flashed the same flirtatious grin he’d given the clerk, only this time he added a few more layers of charm behind it.

He might have imagined it, but he thought the bellboy’s eyes widened, just a little.

The clerk handed his room keys to the bellboy, who slipped them into his front pocket and then grabbed the two suitcases by Dean’s feet.

“Right this way, sir,” the bellboy— _Cas_ said. Dean’s mouth dropped open a little in surprise. His voice was low and gravelly, and far too damn sexy for a man of his profession.

Dean grabbed his briefcase and followed him, dazed, to the elevators.

“So, uh, is Cas short for anything?” Dean asked conversationally as they waited for the elevator.

The bellboy looked at him funny, as if it was a strange question, but Dean suspected he got asked that more often than not. Perhaps it was just strange coming from him, a guest and hoity-toity rich boy at that.

“It is short for Castiel,” the man supplied politely, “I was named after an angel. My parents are very religious.”

“An angel, huh? No kidding,” Dean said, grinning lopsided at him. “I’m Dean. Winchester. Of ‘The Winchesters’ if that means anything to you.”

Dean thought he saw the slightest hint of a smile tug at those wide, pale lips. The eyes certainly sported a certain shade of amusement, but this _Castiel_ had the poker-face _down_ and Dean was finding it extremely difficult to read him.

“I have heard of you,” Cas replied simply.

Oh _. Oh shit_. Dean’s eyes widened at the lilting edge of his voice, like he knew all of Dean’s dirty little secrets. The tabloids. The _fucking tabloids_. Dean really had to stop being such a public slut. It seemed his hotshot playboy reputation was preceding him in ways he _really_ didn’t want it to.

It was time to change the subject. _Now_.

The elevator dinged as if on cue and the pair slipped into the cool metal interior.

“So, have you worked here long?” Dean asked.

He was shit at polite small talk, especially when he was hopelessly and irrevocably taken in by those bottomless blue eyes. He was better at flirting, but Dean could sense it wasn’t really the time nor the place. Not that it had ever stopped him before, but he also got the sense that Castiel’s ‘ _very religious parents’_ had raised a kid who would be able to see right through his bullshit charm and half-cocked pickup lines. Dean was going to have to work at it if he wanted this to go anywhere beyond one slightly-awkward and sexually frustrating elevator ride. Good thing their room was at the top. He had twenty floors to make his case that he _wasn’t_ just a drunken party whore.

“A few years,” Castiel replied shortly. Polite again. Assuaging the guest. It was his job to do so, Dean reminded himself, but he wondered how hard he could push and whether he could get Cas to lose that cool, equable exterior before they reached his floor.

“You don’t really seem the type to be a bellboy,” Dean said. He caught himself. “No offense,” he added.

“None taken,” Castiel assured him. “The truth is I’m saving up to go back to school.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked. He was more than a little impressed. “What for?”

“Psychotherapy,” Castiel replied.

“You want to be a shrink?” Dean blurted. He _really_ didn’t seem the type for that.

“No,” Castiel admitted. He hesitated, then replied softly, honestly—which Dean really hadn’t expected— “I want to be an opera singer.”

“Hey, man, go for your dreams,” Dean encouraged him. If Castiel’s singing voice was anything like his talking voice, then _shit_. He must be fucking Andrea Bocelli.

“I am not as fortunate as you,” Cas pointed out quickly, “I need to think about what’s practical.”

“And you think I don’t?” Dean snorted. “Ever since I was a kid, it’s been, ‘The Family Business’ this, ‘The Family Business’ that. My brother’s the lucky one. He had the good sense to want to become a lawyer. A classic car mechanic or a rock ‘n roll drummer ain’t exactly ‘respectable’ enough to meet with _Mr. Winchester’s_ approval.”

“It is the same with my parents,” Cas confessed. “They wanted me to be a priest.”

“Shit, no kidding,” Dean blurted out in surprise. “Really?”

Castiel nodded.

“So what happened?” Dean could sense he was stepping onto forbidden ground, but he just couldn’t help himself. The elevator continued its steady journey up. They were only about halfway there. If he blew this, the good news was he would only have to ride it out for a few more floors.

“We do not see eye-to-eye when it comes to religion,” Castiel said. His eyes dropped to the floor and he seemed a little sad. “Also, I was kicked out of seminary school.”

“No shit,” Dean blurted. Again. _Damnit_ , he had to get some fucking _filters_ —but the man next to him was making it honestly hard to think straight. Or at all. “You? I mean, you don’t seem the type to get kicked out of anywhere.” Dean laughed a little nervously. “Me, on the other hand…well, let’s just say I have _lists_ of places I ain’t allowed to step foot in anymore.”

Castiel looked a little amused at that.

“Yes, you do seem the type,” he said.

Dean tried not to look offended at that.

“So?” he pressed, “What’d you do that was so bad they kicked you out of God School?” Dean paused, grinning. “Let me guess, they caught you at the sacrificial wine one too many times.”

Castiel shifted, looking a little uncomfortable. He hesitated for a long moment before answering in a low, almost-too-quiet-to-hear voice.

“I fell in love.”

“Oh.” Dean blinked. _Oh_. Time for some calculated subterfuge. “What was her name?” he asked carefully.

“ _His_ name,” Cas corrected softly, “was Balthazar. He was a classmate of mine, and a childhood friend.”

Dean snorted. “Parents and these freaky religious names, am I right?”

The tension that had wound into Castiel’s shoulders since Dean had asked his first uncomfortably personal question visibly relaxed. Possibly because he had glossed over the whole _I was in love with a dude_ thing. It wasn’t like that was new to him, or news, even. If Dean had one talent in the world, it was how to pick ‘em.

“So are you and him still…” Dean trailed off, almost afraid to know the answer. “Seeing each other?” he asked.

“No,” Castiel answered, “No, that ended a long time ago.”

Dean let out the breath he was holding.

Still, that didn’t mean Cas was single.

“There anyone else?” he asked. The words slipped out so easily, Dean surprised himself. He blinked and his eyes widened a little, suddenly remembering he’d known Cas for less than ten minutes. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that,” he said quickly, “I know I’m a total stranger. I was just curious.”

“No, it’s fine,” Cas replied. He peered at Dean a little strangely, head slightly tilted to the side, blue eyes squinting like he was trying to figure him out. There was a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. “There happens to be no one special at the moment.”

“Really?” Dean blurted. He found that hard to believe and couldn’t help the suggestive tone as it slipped into his voice, “No one?”

Cas was silent for a beat before answering. This time the upturned edge of his mouth was unmistakable.

“Well,” he said, “Perhaps there is someone.” His blue eyes flickered up to meet Dean’s. “But I do not know if he feels the same way.”

There it was. The not-so-subtle subterfuge. Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

“I would think anyone would be into you,” Dean said. “I know I would be.”

The last part was added casually, like it meant nothing at all, when in reality they were the words that changed everything.

“I see,” Castiel said, seeming pleased with his answer. “Perhaps I will give it some more thought.”

The elevator dinged, once again, on cue.

“Your room is this way,” Castiel said, dropping the conversation and leading Dean down the hallway.

They stopped at a set of wide, white-and-gold-trimmed double doors toward the end of the hallway. It was one of about three rooms on this floor. Fancy hotels and their fancy suites. Sometimes Dean loved that he was the spoiled son of a multi-millionaire.

“Your room, sir,” Castiel said. There was an ever-so-subtle flirtatious slur to the title. He opened the door for Dean and then stepped back to allow him entry.

Dean entered and set his bag down on the nearest chair, then turned and watched as Cas followed with the luggage.

“Where would you like these?” Castiel asked. He was back to being your typical hospitable bellboy. Dean wasn’t entirely sure why. Was he playing hard to get? Had Dean scared him away with his Spanish Inquision-themed elevator ride?

“Uh, through there,” he said, gesturing. He bit his tongue down on the suggestive descriptive term _bedroom._

Castiel’s eyebrow twitched just a little but he did as Dean asked, the epitome of professionalism.

Dean decided to plant his feet and stay where he was. For all he knew, his dad could be off the phone and on his way up to the room…though he doubted it. Still, better if he didn’t take any chances. He waited in the foyer of the room as Castiel deposited the bags in the master bedroom, following him with his eyes only.

He tried _very_ hard not to think about pinning the sexy bellboy to the mattress and stripping off his ridiculous red coat. He only half succeeded, but hey, it wasn’t like _his_ parents had wanted him to become a saint. That train had never been _scheduled_ at the station. It had never even left the _factory_.

Dean took a deep breath as Castiel exited the room and walked back toward him. He stopped a few feet from Dean and folded his white-gloved hands in front of him.

“Is there anything else you require?” Castiel asked.

 _Hell yes_ , Dean wanted to answer. He wanted to push Cas up against the wall and then tie him to the headboard.

“I’m good,” he said instead, licking his lips.

There was a pulse of sexual tension in the air.

“If that is all,” Cas said.

He gave a little bow and made his way over to the door. Dean followed him, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his pants. Cas turned as he arrived at the threshold.

“Please let me know if there is anything more that you need,” he said.

“Uh, thanks,” Dean said, a little belatedly. “I will.”

 _Remember your manners_ , Dean chided himself. He dug in his pocket, coming out with a twenty.

“Uh, thanks for your help,” he added, handing over the tip.

Cas took the bill in his fingers and for a moment they were connected through Andrew Jackson’s suave, diplomatic face.

“It was my pleasure,” Castiel replied. He gave an ever-so-slight tug and Dean let the bill slip through his grasp.

Cas turned to leave. Dean wanted to call after him but refrained. Instead he watched Castiel retreat down the hallway.

Dean sighed, a little disappointed to see him go, and closed the door to his room. Then he kicked off his shoes and padded barefoot into the ridiculously large white-and-gold marble bathroom with the intention of taking a very _long_ very _cold_ shower.

* * *

It was a few hours later and Dean had done everything one could do in a fancy hotel suite. He’d taken a bath in lieu of a shower when he saw the monstrosity of a Jacuzzi tub and the assortment of spa bottles arranged in a line around the rim— _bubbles_ man, they were so not just for girls. Or at least that’s what he told himself. Then he’d wrapped himself up in one of the hotel’s ridiculously white and fluffy bathrobes and thrown down on the king-sized bed. There he’d flipped through TV channels, ordered some room service, looted the sleek marble bar of its expensive, single-malt scotch, and tried his damnedest to stop thinking about Castiel.

It wasn’t working.

His dad was out following up on the phone call from that morning, and had given Dean the afternoon off. Which he appreciated, considering the ungodly hour John had dragged him out of bed that morning, but Dean was honestly getting a little bored.

He was running out of things to do, and with his bags still lost somewhere in Oz he was forced to wait at the hotel unless he wanted to change back into the stuffy suit from that morning’s meetings. Dean thought he’d rather hang himself from the chandelier in the foyer and so he accepted his fate and slouched deeper into the mountain of soft feather pillows piled on the bed.

This wasn’t so bad, he told himself. They were stupidly soft and fluffy.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Dean launched himself off the bed and practically ran to open it.

It was the bellboy, Cas.

“Oh. Cas, hey,” Dean said with a smile. He leaned against the door like he _wasn’t_ completely naked under his bathrobe. “What brings you to my humble abode?” he asked flirtatiously.

 _Lame_ , his brain supplied. But that’s what happened when all blood was of a sudden _otherwise occupied_ below the border.

“One of your bags arrived from the airport,” Castiel said, ignoring the cheesy pick-up line.

“Finally! I was about to throw myself off the balcony,” Dean exclaimed. He laughed nervously at the funny look Cas was giving him. “I’m kidding,” he said quickly.

Figuring he’d made enough of a fool of himself already, Dean stepped aside to let him in with the bag.

Castiel started toward the bedroom.

“Oh, uh, in the foyer is fine,” Dean said hurriedly. He wasn’t sure he could restrain himself if Castiel went anywhere near all those fluffy pillows.

Cas half turned back to him, tilting his head and looking at Dean with the slightest narrowing of his eyes. _Shit_. Did he think Dean was watching porn or something? Not that he hadn’t thought about it, he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

He couldn’t be sure. Cas said nothing, just set the small suitcase down next to the chair in the foyer, and somehow the fact he might suspect Dean of watching porn when he _wasn’t_ was worse than if he’d caught him when he actually _was_.

The bellboy straightened and addressed him politely.

“I’ll have someone alert you when the other bag arrives,” he said.

“Thanks,” Dean said shortly. He didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment. Castiel’s bright red coat and sleek dress pants taunted him with their neatly ironed folds. Dean slipped his hands in front of himself in what he hoped was an unassuming manner.

Castiel gave a little bow like he had before and strode back to the door. Dean followed, unable to stop himself from trailing after him like a lost, horny puppy.

“Guess I’ll see you when the other bag gets here,” Dean said, giving a last-ditch attempt at flirting. He shouldn’t have. Castiel’s eyes narrowed a little.

“I am not the only bellperson who works at this hotel,” Cas pointed out.

“Right.”

He turned to leave.

Dean frowned and watched Cas walk away for the second time that day, feeling dissatisfied with the way the exchange had gone. He had really wanted to ask Castiel out for a drink, but dared not dressed the way he was.

* * *

With half his wardrobe now returned to him, Dean threw on a pair of washed-out jeans and a dark tee shirt and headed out to one of the many high-end clubs the Big Apple was known for—the kind where a man could do anything, get anything, and more importantly _find someone_ to ease the sexual frustration he’d been feeling since that afternoon. It was his kind of a place, and Dean slipped through the door with an easy smile feeling right at home.

A number of girls in sleek, skin-tight dresses had their arms and drinks raised above their heads and were dancing to the beat of the music. Dean grabbed two drinks—a beer for himself and something fruity for his designated target—a sexy brunette in a fashionably slutty black dress.

He stopped in front of her and held out the drink.

“You look thirsty,” he said by way of introduction. “I’m Dean. I’ll be your bartender this evening.”

The girl smiled at him.

“I’m Carmen,” she replied.

Carmen. A nice, easy, rich-girl name.

“Nice to meet you, Carmen,” Dean said with a lopsided grin. “Care to dance?”

She nodded, and he moved in, placing a hand around her waist.

“So what do you do, Carmen?” Dean asked, leaning in close to her ear so that she could hear his question.

“I’m a model. Beer ads mostly,” the girl replied.

“You don’t say.” Dean held up his beer. “I’m a big fan.”

Carmen grinned. If she had heard the line before, she apparently found Dean charming enough not to care.

They were making out on the dance floor before the music changed. And it was nice, it was. Especially after the day he’d had. But there was something…missing.

Dean pulled back from the kiss, knowing it wasn’t going any further than that and suddenly needing to get as far away from this place as possible.

“I’m going to get another drink,” he said, leaning in to speak in her ear, “I’ll catch you around.”

It was a thinly veiled exit line, but then again, it was a club. Expectations here were low. The girl Carmen would forget all about him by the time morning rolled around. She was probably too drunk to remember him now.

Dean slipped out of the haze of flashing blue lights into the cool city air and hailed a cab back to the hotel.

He spent the ride back trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

The girl, Carmen, was pretty. Any other night he would have danced with her a little longer, plied her with a few more drinks and then invited her back with him for a night of awesome and meaningless sex. So what made tonight any different than the dozens of other nights he’d started just like it?

The answer was waiting for him in the hotel lobby.

Castiel stood with his gloved hands folded in front of him, waiting patiently for when his services were required.

There were only a few people in the lobby besides him, all of them staff. The red-headed clerk from earlier, the manager of the hotel—a tall, bald, dark-skinned fellow who looked like a cross between a bouncer and a shoe salesman—and Castiel. Dean headed over, unable to resist talking to the attractive bellboy.

“You’re here late,” he said by way of an icebreaker.

Castiel looked up at him.

“It is a normal shift for a hotel,” the bellboy replied. “You are back early.”

“Wasn’t feeling the party scene tonight,” Dean supplied with half a shrug.

“I find that hard to believe,” Castiel said. “You have…lipstick—” He gestured to Dean’s face. “—just there.”

“Shit, really?” Dean swiped at his lips, smudging it even worse. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he said quickly. He winced at how that came out. “That makes it sound even worse doesn’t it?”

“It is not my place to judge,” Castiel replied carefully.

“Right.”

Except that it was noticeably clear that he was.

Still, Dean felt the need to justify himself.

“It was just a kiss,” he said, “It didn’t mean anything.”

_Not like it would if I kissed you._

The words drifted unheeded through his mind. Where had the thought even come from?

“You do not need to explain it to me,” Castiel was saying, “I only mentioned it as a courtesy.”

Someone behind Dean gave a loud clearing of his throat. Dean turned. It was the stiff-lipped manager. Castiel’s boss caught his employee’s eye and nodded toward the guest who had just walked up to the check-in counter.

“Excuse me,” Castiel said, turning away. He paused and looked back at Dean with a hint of dry amusement in his voice. “You may want to…wash that off before anyone gets the wrong idea,” he said.

 _You mean someone like you,_ Dean thought.

Dean frowned and watched him go. So much for convincing Cas he wasn’t a total player.

Dean headed back to his room, angry at himself for how he lived his life. If he lost his chance with Cas because of it, he was really going to be pissed.

Maybe it was time he made some changes.

Back in the room, John was asleep in the master bedroom. Dean could hear his loud snores echoing through the thick double doors. He kicked off his shoes at the door and padded barefoot to his own room, turning out the lights as he went.

It took a long time for him to finally fall asleep.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> There you have it folks--chapter 1!! Really hope you all enjoyed it. 
> 
> I have no clue where the idea for this fic came from. I woke up one morning and it was just in my head the way stories are sometimes. I tried to ignore it because I was busy working on _Dream World_ at the time, but it persisted and then demanded to be written. I’m incredibly glad that it did. This has been an extremely fulfilling journey so far, full of discovery and a ton of fun to explore...and I can't wait to see where it goes! :3
> 
> This fic was partially inspired by sparseparsley’s fic _Peanut Butter-Pumpkin Wedding Cake_ insofar as I was impacted by her masterpiece and wanted to try my hand at writing a Dean/Castiel AU. The fic takes place at The Plaza Hotel in NYC, inspired from the movie Home Alone II, weirdly enough. 
> 
> Not sure if I can promise weekly updates here, but I'm going to try my best. At the very least every other week.


	2. Asking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've got the flirting thing down, but will Cas say yes to a date?

* * *

Dean was up early the next morning to scope out the gym. Unfortunately for him all his workout gear was in his still-missing bag, but _fortunately_ for him, shacking up at a 5-star hotel meant there were perks. The Plaza, for instance, had a program for people like him—people who couldn’t go a day without lifting some weights or getting in a good round of cardio.

Dean called the front desk to have them bring up a set of workout clothes stat, then turned on the television and watched old reruns of some sappy medical drama while he waited.

Half an hour later there was a soft knock at the door.

“Finally,” Dean breathed, rolling off the bed.

He opened the door in his pajamas—a pair of loose sweatpants with a hole in the ass and a faded gray t-shirt—and immediately wished he was wearing something a little more flattering. Castiel stood in the doorway in his immaculate bellboy uniform, hair combed neatly to the side and freshly shaven just as he had been the day before.

“Cas. Uh, hey. G’morning,” Dean greeted. His heartbeat sped up as soon as his eyes met with Cas’s bright blue ones. Maybe he wouldn’t need the cardio workout after all.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel replied. He held up a bag with the _Reebok_ logo on it. “I believe this is for you?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Dean took the bag offered to him, fidgeting with the plastic. “Hey, my other bag hasn’t arrived yet, has it?” he asked, “Not that this isn’t great and all but I prefer my own workout clothes.”

“I didn’t notice anything when I arrived in this morning. I can double check if you’d like,” Castiel offered.

“Oh. No, it’s fine. Really,” Dean replied. He gulped, wondering if he could string a proper sentence together before this conversation was over. “I’ll just, uh, check when I get back later. No big.”

He smiled in what he hoped was a friendly manner and not at all neurotic.

“Very well,” Castiel replied. The bellboy shifted his weight. “May I ask…what is on the agenda for today?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean replied. He was relieved for the icebreaker, though he wondered why Cas was being so formal. “Business meetings with my dad again. Couple of ‘em.” Dean smiled a little hopelessly. “It’s not really my thing, to be honest.”

“Yes, I imagine business is rather dull compared to rock and roll,” Castiel replied with a sarcastic edge to his voice, “and clubbing,” he added.

Dean blinked and felt his face grow hot at the reference to last night and the lipstick. A grade-A fuck-up, that.

“R-r-right, well, who wouldn’t think that?” Dean stuttered in response, looking down at the bag in his hands. Still, Cas was talking to him, which was a good sign. Perhaps Dean hadn’t scared him off as he originally thought. He took a breath. “But I mean it’s not like I can’t do it. It just…doesn’t come naturally, I guess. Or…I dunno, maybe I just haven’t found my groove yet.”

Castiel nodded and seemed to ponder that.

“Have you heard of Andrew Carnegie?” he asked. Dean shook his head no so the bellboy continued. “He was a successful businessman who recognized that charm and charisma are just as important in doing business as is any kind of technical knowledge. He even wrote a book about it. _How to Win Friends and Influence People._ ” Castiel paused, casting Dean a sly look. “Perhaps you are more of a natural than you think.”

“Uh.” Dean’s mouth dropped open a little. His lips moved, but no words came out. Had Cas just called him _charming and_ _charismatic_? “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, tossing the bellboy a lopsided grin.

Castiel nodded, seeming pleased.

“I’ll let you enjoy your workout,” he said. He gave Dean a slight bow and turned to leave.

“Oh wait! I should—” Dean dug in his pocket for a tip, but came up empty. “Crap, pajamas, right. Uh, if you wanna wait a sec I can go grab my wallet,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder.

Castiel suddenly looked uncomfortable. The bellboy shifted his weight and averted his eyes.

“That is—there is no need,” he said after a brief hesitation. “Your last tip was more than generous.”

“Dude you’ve been up here twice now and I haven’t given you a damn thing,” Dean argued. “And don’t tell me you don’t need the cash. Last I checked college ain’t cheap.”

Castiel blushed a little at that.

“Really, Dean, it’s fine. Keep your money. It was…it was my pleasure.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean stared at him. The cogs in his brain turned slowly, working it out. Then it clicked. Cas didn’t want to take his money _because he liked Dean_. Hey, awesome. “Well, okay, if you insist,” Dean said. “I’ll catch you another time I guess.”

“Perhaps…when your other bag arrives,” Castiel said. He straightened a little, gathering up his height. “If you will excuse me, I need to get back to work,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He held up the bag in his hands. “Thanks again, Cas.”

“You are welcome,” Castiel replied.

The grin on his face was barely noticeable, but it was there. Dean beamed at him and watched as he turned to leave. He lingered in the doorway as Cas walked back to the elevators, head titled in admiration of that fine ass in those pressed black pants.

He slipped back into the room and adjusted himself, then went to get changed for his workout.

He ran into his dad on his way through the living room. John was seated on the sofa, sipping his morning coffee and reading the NY Times.

“Who was that?” his father asked.

“Oh, uh, hotel staff,” Dean replied. He held up the bag of workout clothes. “I’m gonna go get changed and hit the gym.”

“Make it quick,” John said, glancing at his watch. “We leave at oh-nine-hundred.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean answered, making a face. “I’ll be ready.”

* * *

Dean hadn’t been kidding when he told Cas business wasn’t his thing. After a short workout and a quick shower, Dean and his dad had hopped into the company car and hightailed it downtown to meet with one Mr. Chen about the possibility of buying up one of his properties—which is how Dean found himself seated ramrod straight in an uncomfortable conference room chair in a suit and tie, sweating through the collar of his button-up shirt.

Mr. Chen was the kind of man who would never be caught in anything _but_ a business suit. He wore it like a second skin, all shimmery pinstripes and custom-tailored edges. His suit must have cost a goddamn fortune, and yet he wore it like Dean wore his pajamas. Dean had to wonder what he _did_ sleep in.

The wiry Asian man was also a shrewd businessman who spoke in short, clipped, direct sentences. Growing up in Hong Kong and learning English as a second language hadn’t set him back at all. It was simply another tool for him to use. If he didn’t like what he was hearing, he pretended not to understand the conversation until the tune changed.

He had two daughters and a tiny little wife, which he spent showing off on his phone for a number of minutes in the beginning of the meeting like they were the fucking princesses of the world. Kind of cute, Dean thought, but also more than a little annoying.

One was on her way to becoming a medical researcher—testing infectious diseases and constructing cures for them. The other was a philanthropist and worked with autistic children.

The point was that Dean felt decidedly out of place in the general conversation. He didn’t fit into the cookie-cutter life, much as his Dad was trying to shove it down his throat. He couldn’t relate to wives and grown children making their mark on the world— _doing things_ with their lives rather than just wasting away their years partying and drinking and sleeping around…

This meeting and the last few before it were all part of a trial run to see if Dean had what it took to be a respectable son and take over the family business, but so far it hadn’t been going very well. Maybe because his heart just wasn’t in it.

 _Maybe_ Dean had a future running his Dad’s company—and it was a big maybe—but the rest of it was pretty much a pipe dream. And Dean didn’t smoke.

So he listened to the slowly balding, pinstriped-clad capitalist talk about his family and pretended to give shit when really all he could think about was a crimson-red jacket, hot, pale lips against his, and the smoothness of Castiel’s leather belt under his fingers as he slipped it through the buckle of his pressed black pants…

“Dean?” John turned to him and shot him a look that demanded a response.

Dean shook his head to snap himself out of the fantasy and looked back at his father.

“What?” he blurted, lost in the conversation.

“Mr. Chen just asked you a question,” John said.

“Right, sorry,” Dean said. He licked his lips nervously. “Uh…w-what exactly was the question?” he asked.

Mr. Chen narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“What my son _means_ to say,” John spoke up, “Is that I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. We would be willing to make you a generous offer if you do decide to sell.”

Dean laughed nervously.

“Uhh, that’s right,” he said, “Sure we can work something out.”

His father shot him a severe look that said _you had better pay attention_ and continued with the negotiations.

Dean let out a sigh once the meeting was finally over. They hadn’t really gotten anywhere in the discussion and he felt like that was on him.

This morning’s meeting was just another testimony to the general theme of his life. Last night, this morning, tomorrow, next week…what was the point of trying if all he did was fuck things up? He should just quit while he was ahead. Give up and stop thinking about the man with the azure blue eyes and strong jawline and soft, warm expression while Cas still had a half-decent impression of him.

Hell, what chance did he even have? No way a guy like Cas would want a guy like him long-term. No, to Castiel he was nothing more than a collection of raunchy tabloid articles and a couple flirtatious encounters—a pleasant distraction at an otherwise grueling customer service gig. It wasn’t like Dean could blame him, either. He’d played right into it last night.

He wasn’t that person. Ok, maybe he was. But he was more than that too. He just didn’t know how to show it.

Dean tried to hide the frown on his face as he and his father descended the concrete steps outside Mr. Chen’s sky rise, but some of his somber mood must have shown through.

A large hand suddenly clapped down on his shoulder.

“Why don’t you head back to the hotel, take the afternoon off?” John suggested. He held up an arm as they reached the edge of the sidewalk and hailed a cab for his son. Dean was quiet, eyes downcast as it pulled up to the curb. He wanted to show his dad he could do this—help run the family business, make him proud—but it seemed all he was good at was being a disappointment.

“You’ll get the hang of things,” John said, seeming to sense he needed the encouragement. “Give it time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mumbled, not really believing him, “Thanks.” He got in the cab and gave his dad a small smile as the older man waved him away, but his heart wasn’t in the gesture.

Dean was glad his dad hadn’t insisted on dragging him along to the next meeting. John sometimes joked that he would fit in better with a bunch of mid-western drunks than in a roomful of businessmen, and Dean had to agree with him. He’d take beer and shady games of pool over stuffy suits and sleazy businessmen any day.

Speaking of sleazy…

Dean had just wandered into the hotel lobby with the thought of maybe grabbing an early drink at the bar, maybe ogling the bellboy from a safe distance and considering his next move since forgetting about him sure as hell wasn’t working. He stopped when he saw the man standing at the check-in counter.

_God damnit._

The man, round-faced and dressed in an ill-fitted business suit was chatting up the same clerk who had helped Dean yesterday at check-in. Only _this guy_ went so far as to reach across the counter and place his hand over the girl’s as she slid his keys over to him. He was smiling at her with a crooked grin he probably thought was charming—and maybe it would have been if he wasn’t fat, balding, and old enough to be her dad.

 _Jesus, keep it in your fucking pants,_ Dean thought, watching them. Seriously though, not his problem. The girl tugged her hand away, smiling a little tightly. She seemed to have a clue as to how to deal with his particular breed of clientele.

Then Dean noticed Castiel walking over to the man, ready to assist with his luggage. Dean caught the slow rise of the businessman’s eyebrow and the not-so-subtle widening of his grin.

 _Fucking hell_.

Dean was moving before he could think twice about the consequences of getting himself involved. The businessman was just opening his mouth to deliver possibly the most uncomfortable pickup line in gay history when Dean cock-blocked him quite emphatically.

“Zachariah, it’s been a while,” Dean greeted, turning on the charm and stepping between Zach and the unsuspecting bellboy.

“Dean Winchester,” Zach said with a thinly veiled sneer. “I thought you were in California.”

“Dad and I are here on business,” Dean said, “What brings you to town?”

“Merger,” Zach responded tersely. “I’m late for a meeting. If you will excuse me.”

Zach nodded to Cas, who was standing quite still behind Dean. Dean half-turned and caught his eye. He furrowed his brow a little in warning.

“Well hell, let me give you a hand,” Dean said turning back and laying on the fake pleasantries, “That must have been some flight from…where did you say you were coming from?”

“Cincinnati,” Zach replied. The glower on his face was steadily growing. “And I didn’t say.”

“Hey, we were just there last week closing a deal,” Dean lied. He picked up one of Zachariah’s many bags (seriously, how did one fat fuck need _three_ suitcases) and started toward the elevators.

Castiel shot him an inquisitive look but said nothing, a practiced shadow in the room as he picked up the remaining bags and followed them.

Dean made it a point to stand between Cas and Zach on their way up to the room—on the twelfth floor, which Dean made sure to mention was considerably lower than _their_ floor on multiple occasions throughout the terse, often one-way conversation he was having with Zach.

If his father was here, he would _so not approve_ and Dean would possibly get a hard slap upside the head for his insolence, but he had his reasons and honestly Zach was a dick—had always been a dick—and Dean really didn’t give a shit about making nice with the man. He didn’t care what his fucking net worth was.

Cas stood quietly at his side with the bags dangling from both hands, listening to their idle chit-chat.

“We’ve got a few meetings set up for next week; I think Dad plans to make a few extra million before the quarter is over,” Dean was saying. It wasn’t really true—yes, they’d be in town for the week, but not the last part. The last part he said just because he knew it would piss Zachariah off. His dad’s real estate company had always been a hell of a lot more successful than Zach’s stumpy little restaurant business.

“Is that so?” Zach responded politely. His voice and eyes were angry though. He checked his watch and shifted the briefcase around in his hands.

The elevator doors dinged open.

Cas led the way, keys at the ready. He opened the door silently, one arm out to let Zach in.

Dean barely let the man get a smile out before cutting between the two and shielding Cas as if his whole body were the Great Wall of China.

“Well, Zach, it’s been a pleasure. You should join Dad and I for dinner while you’re in town,” he said cordially. The smile on his face was tight. He had _not_ missed the straying hand that had been there the second before he blocked Cas from view.

“Ah, yes. Of course,” Zach replied. He frowned. “Well, thank you for your _help_ , Dean.” He snatched the bag from Dean and dumped it inside by the door. Zach then tried to forcibly elbow him out of the way to grab the bags from Cas, but Dean was quicker.

“Oh here, let me.”

Dean grabbed the bags from Cas and passed them over to Zach, all the while pretending to be the innocent and helpful middle-man. Zack glared at him.

“ _Thanks,_ ” he replied tersely. Zach dropped the bags next to the one by the door. He glanced down at his watch again and scowled. “I’m running late. Give John my regards.”

 _Gotcha_. Dean thought. Zachariah had officially given up on the sweet piece of ass behind him. He grinned at the old slut.

“Good luck with your _merger_ ,” Dean said, putting ever-so-slight an emphasis on that last word. Because he was also a dick and couldn’t help _rubbing it in_ a little.

The glower Zach sent him was absolutely worth it. So was the not-so-elegant slam of the door in his face.

Dean chuckled as he heard Zach stomping away on the other side of the door.

There was a beat of silence in the mostly-empty corridor. He felt Castiel shift uncomfortably behind him.

“What was that all about?” the bellboy asked.

Dean turned and gave him a raised eyebrow.

“Believe me, I just saved your ass. Literally.” He grinned a little painfully. “Zach’s a huge perv. I should know, he’s made enough passes at me to apply for citizenship on my ass. Lucky for me I’ve got a mean right hook.”

“You punched him?” Castiel gaped at him, blue eyes widening in surprise.

Dean flashed him a self-satisfied smile.

“Couple of times. He deserved it, but he still hasn’t forgiven me. Keeps his hands to himself when it comes to my ass these days though, which is pretty much all a man can hope for.”

Dean started back to the elevators.

“Figured I’d save you the trouble of finding out the hard way,” he said.

He glanced back at Cas, who still stood frozen in the middle of the corridor. He was staring at Dean like perhaps he had misjudged him.

“You coming?” Dean called. He couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself.

Castiel blinked, then hurried to catch up with him.

“Does your father know about Zachariah’s…preferences?” he asked.

Dean snorted.

“Please, that man wouldn’t know gay if it slapped him upside the head,” Dean replied. He shot Cas an uneasy look. “I’m bi, so he doesn’t exactly know I ride both sides of the fence.”

“I see.”

The elevator dinged and they slipped inside. Cas hit the button for Dean’s floor.

There was an amiable silence between them as the elevator climbed the few floors to the top. Then, just as Dean thought they would ride the rest of the way without speaking to each other, Cas broke it.

“Thank you,” Castiel said softly.

Dean huffed in laughter.

“Hey, no problem,” he said. He flashed Cas a flirtatious smile and took a line from the bellboy’s book. “It was my pleasure.”

Castiel looked away. Dean thought he saw a bit of a blush rising across the bridge of his nose, but it was hard to tell.

The elevator dinged to announce they had arrived. Impeccable timing as always.

Dean stepped out. He turned and looked back at the man standing in the elevator.

He really didn’t want things to end like this. Or end them at all, for that matter.

The doors began to close.

“Hey,” Dean blurted, stopping them with his arm before they could. “When do you get off work?” 

Cas blinked at him, staring as Dean half-leaned into the elevator.

“Why do you ask?” he inquired.

“Because I’d like to take you to dinner,” Dean replied smoothly. He leaned in a little more, an easy smile sliding across his face.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Castiel pointed out, his answer guarded, “considering you are a guest.”

Dean for once dropped the grin on his face.

“I don’t care,” he said. “I like you, and I’d like to buy you a meal, get to know you better.” He gave Cas the once-over and noticed as the man stiffened a little. “Come on,” Dean said, “Live a little.”

“…very well,” Cas replied. The tension in his shoulders eased a little at the genuine smile that Dean was giving him. “In that case…I get off at nine.”

“Perfect. Should I… meet you in the lobby?” Dean asked.

“I will meet you across the street,” Castiel replied, “In front of the park.”

“Good. It’s a date.”

Dean stepped away from the elevator, allowing the doors to close. He gave Castiel a two-fingered salute and grinned at the surprised, wide-eyed expression he caught on the man’s face just before they did.

 _Alright!_ Dean thought to himself.

_Thank you, Zachariah._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it everyone--chapter 2! Let me know what you think. Writing is a lot like wrangling a fussy child sometimes and the comments really help pin down the inspiration. ;P
> 
> Funny Trivia: The Plaza Hotel actually has a service to bring you workout clothes if you forget yours which is where the inspiration for the opening scene came from. Go figure.
> 
> Next chapter things pick up a little... so I'm excited. Until next week! :D


	3. Opening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean's date does not go as planned but still turns out pretty good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for someone to do a graphic for this fic--please message me if you are interested or if you know someone who is. 
> 
> **Warning for the use of the 'c' word in this chapter.**
> 
> I'm also happy to announce that Charlie will be making an appearance in this fic!! (Not in this chapter though! Sorry. Different redhead) And possibly more characters as they make themselves known. ;)

* * *

The night did _not_ go how Dean wanted it to.

It seemed stepping into Zachariah’s affairs made the man a bitter little _cunt_. Dean was just getting ready to leave for his date with Cas when his dad caught him by the arm in the lobby.

“Dean, there you are. Come, you’re joining us for dinner.”

John turned to the man at his side.

“You remember Zachariah,” John said.

Zach smiled a disgustingly friendly smile at Dean, to which he mirrored.

“Yes, I remember. Nice to see you again, Zach,” Dean greeted, shaking the man’s hand as though they hadn’t met earlier that day.

He gripped it just a tad tighter than usual, feeling gratified when Zach winced a little. Dean let go and Zach tried to hide it as he rubbed at his knuckles.

“Zach suggested we go for dinner at one of his company’s new restaurants,” John explained.

“That so?” Dean said, “Well, I hate to disappoint, but I was just on my way out.”

John took his son by the arm, pulling him off to the side. Zach was doing a great job of pretending he wasn’t listening in, but Dean knew he was. He gritted his teeth, cursing his damned luck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Castiel watching them.

 _Shit_.

“Dean, I thought we agreed you would be more than just accompanying me on this trip,” John was saying in a low voice. Dean tried not to be distracted by the squinty look the bellboy was shooting him from across the lobby. He wished it were possible to send telepathic messages.

“I’ve been more than understanding,” John continued, “I expect you to step it up.”

“I know, Dad,” Dean said, “And I will,” he promised. He took a breath. “Come on, Dad, it’s New York. I want to hit the town.”

“You can do that another time. Join us. It will be good experience for you.”

Across the room, Dean watched as Castiel headed for the exit.

_Double shit._

“I have plans,” Dean insisted. He didn’t want to have to play this card, but at this point he was desperate. “ _With_ someone.”

His father gave him a disapproving look, and again Dean cursed his habit of sleeping around.

“Cancel them. Business before pleasure, Son. How do you think I made all my millions?”

 _Probably not by running after hot bellboys_. Dean thought. Outwardly he sighed, resigned to his less-than-favorable fate.

“Yes, Sir.”

He shifted, miserable, and glanced through the wide front doors of the hotel. He had no way of telling Castiel that he couldn’t make their date. Unless…

“Be right back,” Dean said. He headed over to the front desk.

The same clerk from earlier was still at the desk, clacking away at her computer.

“Hey, can you do me a huge favor?” Dean asked her, leaning in without pretense. The girl looked up, surprised, and blinked at him. She seemed to recognize him from earlier.

“What do you need?” she asked.

Dean grabbed a business card and a pen from the counter and jotted a quick message down on the back of it, along with his number.

“Can you give this to Cas?” he asked, passing her the card. “He’s waiting for me across the street.”

“Oh.” The clerk blinked a few times in quick succession.

“Tell him I’m sorry but something came up,” Dean said. He gave her the big green puppy-dog eyes he knew worked on pretty much anyone. It helped that he actually _did_ feel like shit. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, of course,” the girl replied.

Across the room, Dean heard John clear his throat. He glanced over, then back to the clerk. Her eyes had followed his, and seemed to put two-and-two together.

“Oh, and…” Dean leaned in a little closer and dropped his voice—more for show than anything else. “If my dad says anything about us, just roll with it.”

As if on cue, John strode over, impatience echoing in the quick _tap tap tap_ of his heels.

“Come along, Dean, you can make eyes at your pretty friend later.”

Dean backed away from the desk, leaving the card with the message to Cas under the clerk’s finely manicured fingers.

 _“Call me,”_ he mimed, also for show, and then he turned around and followed after his dad.

The clerk blushed and ducked her head.

* * *

As suspected, it was a miserable night, for more than one reason. The first, obviously, because Dean had to cancel his date with Cas. The second, because _of all people_ to have to cancel _anything_ for it just had to be _fucking_ Zachariah.

 _Fucking hell_.

“So, Dean, how have you been?” Zach asked over the rim of his wine glass.

 _Dick_. Had he guessed Dean’s motives with Cas and planned this cock-block of a dinner just to get back at him for earlier? It was entirely possible. The man was a pig, not stupid.

“Good. I spent the summer in Ibiza,” Dean replied. He took a long gulp of his drink.

“And how is Sam?” Zach asked.

Dean’s face hardened. The question was directed at John, however, and not him. Which was good, because Dean was hair’s breadth away from punching him out from across the table in that hideously hooked nose of his.

 _How dare you mention my brother’s name_ , he thought darkly.

“Still in pre-law,” John replied proudly. “I’m looking forward to the day when I can finally put him on the payroll.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Zachariah replied cordially.

Dean hid a face behind his drink. His father was blissfully unaware that Zach had an unnatural fixation with both of his sons. Dean could suffer his advances, such as they were, but he _could not_ stomach Zach thinking about Sammy.

As far as Dean knew Zachariah had never made any advances toward his little brother, but that may have been out of self-preservation rather than disinterest or lack of opportunity.

Dean thought about what John would do if he knew about Zach’s _interest_ in his boys.

It was not a pretty thought, but somehow thinking it and knowing it was something he kept in his back pocket in the event he needed good material for blackmail made Dean feel better.

Dean leaned back in his chair and relaxed, just a little.

Somehow Dean made it through the remainder of dinner without launching himself across the table to strangle Zachariah. He wasn’t sure _how_ he did it, but he did.

It possibly had to do with the number of drinks he ordered during their meal.

He declined his father’s offer for a ride back to the hotel and decided to walk instead. It wasn’t that far and Dean figured he could use the fresh air after the disgustingly stuffy dinner he’d just had to stomach. The crisp October night was like an antidote to the toxic feeling rolling around in his gut, so Dean stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and breathed it in as he strolled along the bustling streets of New York, New York.

His phone ringing in his pocket surprised him. He pulled it out but didn’t recognize the number. It was nearly eleven and he wondered who could be calling him this late. He knew who he wanted it to be.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Dean?”

Dean stopped in his tracks, Zach and the horrible dinner utterly forgotten at the sound of the voice on the other end.

“Cas.” Dean let the relief flow into his voice. “I’m glad you called. I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” Castiel said. “Anna explained what happened.”

“Who?”

“My coworker. She is the one who delivered your message,” Castiel supplied.

“Right. Anna,” Dean said. He must be referring to the front desk clerk. The redhead. “Good.”

“She mentioned Zachariah may have been involved.”

“Yeah,” Dean turned his nose up in disgust. “He’s a huge dick, that one.”

“So you have mentioned,” Cas replied, sounding a little amused.

“So, what are you up to?” Dean asked. He continued walking. He was nearly to the hotel.

“I am at the opera.”

Dean stopped again.

“Wait. Really?” he blurted, because Cas didn’t seem like the kind of guy to be able to afford something like that.

There was a static huff of air into the receiver from the other line, as if Cas had snorted into the phone. Dean could just make out the faint sounds of orchestra music in the background.

“It is not what you think,” Castiel replied. “I work here as an usher and therefore have special backstage access to the shows.”

“Oh,” Dean replied. “That’s pretty neat,” he said.

“I was wondering…if you would like to join me for the final act,” Castiel said.

“Uh,” Dean paused, a little flattered and a lot taken back by the offer, “Hell yes. I mean… yes, I’d love to,” he amended.

“Good,” Castiel said. He sounded pleased. “I’m at the Metropolitan Opera House.”

“Oh, I’m uh…” Dean glanced around him, “I’m not too far from there, I think.” He stepped out into the street and hailed a cab passing by. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Ask for me when you get here,” Castiel directed, “The doorman will let you through.”

“Sure thing.”

Dean hung up and told the cab driver where to go.

* * *

Despite being the son of a wealthy businessman, Dean had actually never been to the opera. Not that it was very surprising, given that his taste in entertainment tended to lean toward the more erotic side of show business. He just didn’t fit in well with the stuffy, elitist snobs known to frequent these sorts of places. Right away he felt out of place—despite his father’s name, despite the fact that he outshined most of the people here on looks alone. No, Dean felt out of place because he was _hilariously_ underdressed.

The washed-out designer jeans with strategically placed tears in them, black, skin-tight tee and faded leather jacket that was his signature look might have been fine for a date or dinner with his dad and _Zachariah the uber-dick_ but not _this place_.

And not when Cas was looking so _god damn_ succulent in a full-out tuxedo. Bowtie and waistcoat and shiny black shoes and everything. He was even wearing cuff links. _Cuff links_. Dean owned about a hundred, but he’d never actually _worn any of them_.

Cas was clearly waiting for him in the lobby when he arrived, and Dean had a split-second to bolt before the man glanced up and saw him.

 _Too late_.

Dean gulped and strode over to Castiel, hiding his cowardice in his bow-legged gait.

“Hey,” he greeted, stopping before Cas. Damn, but he looked even more delicious up close in person. And he _smelled_ good on top of it. Dean swallowed. Hard. “I uh, think I’m a little underdressed,” he said nervously.

Castiel smiled softly at him.

“It was to be expected,” he said, “Don’t worry, we are not going into the hall itself.” He very lightly took Dean by the hand. “This way.”

Castiel led him to a side door and up a narrow set of stairs. They climbed for a number of minutes until Dean’s legs burned from the exertion, until finally they reached another narrow door which they slipped quietly through.

Dean gasped when he saw the view from where they were.

Spreading out several floors below them was the Metropolitan Opera House. They were up above the top balcony, in a lighting alcove just below the scalloped gold ceiling. Miles away on stage, a tiny ant of a woman was singing loud enough to fill the entire hall with the sound of her voice.

“Woah,” Dean breathed, taken in by the sight. Beside him, Cas nodded.

“Best seats in the house,” he murmured, blue eyes fixed on the figurine-sized humans below. There was a relaxed smile on his face that Dean was sure was reserved for this place and this place only.

“What are they singing about?” Dean asked quietly.

Castiel bent his head in closer so that Dean could hear him.

“The opera is called _The Fiery Angel_ ,” Cas said, “It is about a woman, Renata, who befriends an angel as a child and later develops sexual feelings for him. She asks that he come to her in physical form, and falls in love with a man who she believes is the angel’s human incarnation. She eventually discovers this is not true and becomes a nun.” Castiel paused briefly in his description as the woman on screen was grabbed by a group of her fellow nuns and white-painted men in thongs danced around accosting a number of others. “She is then accused of demonic possession and condemned to burn at the stake.”

“Damn,” Dean said. He shifted uncomfortably as the intensity of the show increased. The woman on stage was praying fervently in a soprano chant as her fellow nuns writhed around her in various levels of nudity. In the middle of the stage a priest in a long red coat was flinging what Dean supposed was holy water as he sang long and deep in what sounded like Latin. “I didn’t realize the opera was so…”

“Dramatic?” Castiel supplied. When Dean caught his eyes, the look in them was amused.

“I was going to say depressing,” Dean replied. “Does the girl ever get the guy?” he asked.

“Almost never,” Castiel said.

“Not very realistic then,” Dean commented. He frowned slightly at Cas, who seemed amused by his criticism.

“No, I suppose not,” the man replied. The corners of his lips tugged upward. “But it certainly makes for a good show.”

“I guess,” Dean said with a shrug. “If you _like_ watching old men sing. The naked nuns are a nice touch though.”

Castiel laughed a little at that and Dean grinned, glad to have finally gotten some sort of reaction out of him that wasn’t just a variation of his ever-present _Serious Bellboy_ face. He seemed so relaxed here, so very different than he was at the hotel.

He was also standing a lot closer. The professional distance that separated them before had now fallen away, and Castiel seemed completely at ease occupying Dean’s personal space. It was a little unnerving but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

They fell silent, watching the last few minutes of the show. It ended with Renata singing and a bright white light. As the curtain fell and the lights came back on, Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s arm and pulled him to the far back of the alcove so that they wouldn’t be seen by any wandering eyes wanting to admire the intricate ceiling and star-drop chandelier.

“I feel kind of bad for Renata,” Dean said, commenting on the end of the show. “I don’t think she was possessed, just heartbroken and maybe a little delusional.”

“That was often the diagnosis for mental illness back in the day,” Castiel explained, and suddenly it was clear as day to Dean why he would make such a great psychiatrist. “Thankfully things are different now.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “Good thing.”

They watched the patrons below gather their purses and jackets and opera glasses and file in a relaxed manner out of the hall. Castiel made no indication that he was in a hurry to leave, however, and so neither did Dean. They watched as the hall slowly emptied from the shadows of the lighting bay. Dean was acutely aware of Castiel next to him, the faint heat coming off his body and the scent of cologne wafting up from his slim, tux-clad figure. A wave of desire hit him out of nowhere and Dean’s nostrils flared, his heartbeat doing double time against his ribcage.

It was then that Castiel chose to move, hand falling lightly onto his forearm.

“We should go,” he said quietly.

Dean didn’t reply, just turned and grabbed him by the upper arm, pulling him into a kiss. His hand went behind Castiel’s head, fingers carded through his hair.

At first Castiel didn’t respond. He froze, going stiff under Dean for a fraction of a second before melting against him and moving his lips eagerly at Dean’s hungry approach. Dean pushed him up against the wall of the alcove and slipped his other hand under Cas’s tux coat, ruffling up his waistcoat.

Things got very heated, very quickly—lips and hands and tongues and teeth—and somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean noted the irony that he was making out with a man _named after an angel_ directly following _an opera about fiery angels_.

He thought maybe _fiery_ was another way of saying _horny_.

He abandoned the thought as Cas’s hands gripped him by the hips a little tighter and made a small strangled noise at the back of his throat when Dean rolled his tongue against the inside of his mouth.

Then Dean’s phone rang, shattering the moment.

He broke away, gasping.

“Who the _fuck.._?”

Dean dug the phone out of his pocket and scowled at the name on the caller ID. His first impulse was to ignore the call, but his father’s voice echoed in his head from earlier that evening. _Business before pleasure, Son._ Castiel stood stiffly against the wall, chest heaving, lips flushed where Dean had kissed him. His eyes were dark, questioning. Dean shot him an apologetic look and reluctantly hit the accept button.

“Dad? What is it?” He asked. It occurred to him that his father wouldn’t be calling this late unless it was important.

John Winchester’s deep, booming voice spoke from the other side.

“There’s been a mix-up with the Silverview closing,” he said. It sounded like he was running. “I need to catch a red-eye back to LA and sort it out in the morning.”

“Damnit,” Dean swore, “Should I meet you there?” He frowned, wondering when the next flight left for LA.

“There’s no reason to drag you all the way out here,” John said, “I’m planning on spending the weekend at home, catch up on a few things. I should be back Sunday evening.”

In the background, Dean could hear an announcement over the loudspeaker.

“My flight is boarding. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good luck,” Dean said. He pulled the phone away and hung up.

“Something wrong?” Castiel asked. His low, gravelly voice sent shivers of pleasure up Dean’s spine.

“Not really. Business as usual.” Dean gave him the short version of what had happened. Then he slipped the phone back into his pocket and leaned in to kiss Castiel again.

Castiel’s lips were warm still from their previous kiss, pliable and sharp with the taste of his arousal. Dean pushed his tongue through them, rolling it lazily along his as a thought circled in his head.

_He had the room to himself tonight._

A surge of desire shot through him. He pressed his body firmly up against Castiel, gripping him a little tighter.

Castiel pulled back abruptly, turning his head to the side and drawing a deep breath.

“Dean,” he said softly, breathlessly, and Dean just hummed his response and lowered his mouth to the nook between Castiel’s neck and shoulder, peeling back the collar of his shirt. He felt Cas shiver a little under him.

“Dean, stop,” Castiel said a little louder, hands pushing at his hips.

Dean reluctantly pulled back. He could tell Cas wanted him—that wasn’t the issue judging from the bulge in his pants—but if that was the case then why had he pulled the breaks? Dean considered Castiel’s face, the wide set of his deep blue eyes in the dim lighting of the alcove and the slight pink blush to his lips where Dean had kissed him.

“Come back to the hotel with me,” Dean said quietly.

The hands gripping his hips trembled ever so slightly.

“No,” Castiel said, and honestly Dean was stung by the abrupt rejection. That was _definitely_ not the answer he expected. “That is… I am not…” Castiel struggled for the words, eyes going wide and looking a little terrified. Finally he settled on the right ones. “I’m attracted to you, that much goes without saying. But I am not the kind of person to jump right into bed with someone.”

Ah, that explained things. Dean let go and stepped back half a step.

“Okay,” he said, looking down at Cas from under long, golden-brown lashes.

“Okay?” Castiel echoed. His shoulders tensed against the wall.

“What do you want me to say?” Dean asked, frowning slightly, “I _am_ the kind of person who jumps right into bed, but that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of taking things slow.” Dean sought out Castiel’s eyes, those deep blue pools that seemed to reflect everything he was feeling. “I like you, Cas, not just—” here Dean paused to allow his eyes to slide languidly down the rich tuxedo-clad figure of his not-quite-a-date, date— “not just how good you look in a tux,” he finished, “Or a bellboy uniform.” He grinned a little, looking back up at him. 

“I assumed… the tabloids, and the other night— You seem…well-traveled,” Castiel struggled. Dean gave a little snort of amusement at his polite way of calling him a slut.

“Yeah, well…” Dean looked away, blushing a little. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Oh. I see.” Castiel lowered his eyes, blushing lightly. Dean shifted his weight to his other foot, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

He sounded corny as shit, but it happened to be the truth. Dean had never met anyone quite as honest and open about their life as Castiel. No right-minded man would pour their soul out to a complete stranger in an elevator five minutes after meeting. Or invite him to the opera after just knowing him for a day. Not unless that someone was…well, self-assured enough not to give a shit what he thought. Dean liked that—liked Cas’s bravery and his open and honest yet steadfast nature, liked his micro-expressions and the deep gravel of his voice. Liked the way that voice sounded grating over his name, too.

It was hard for him to believe they’d met just yesterday and he was already feeling this way.

The hush that fell between them in the alcove somehow seemed to echo out into the grand hall below. Castiel stared at Dean for a long minute, as if he were attempting to judge the sincerity of his words. Then he stirred as a couple of lights in the hall suddenly went dark.

“They’re closing up. We should go,” he said softly.

Dean was still standing close to him and Cas was still up against the wall. Dean stepped back and Castiel led them back down the access stairwell to the lobby. It was mostly empty by now, though a few over-zealous patrons were still schmoozing around sipping champagne by the hall doors. The pair slipped along the edges of the lobby and out into the crisp night air.

It was nearly one in the morning, but there was still a line of taxis parked out front.

“How far do you have to go?” Dean asked Castiel. It was the first they’d spoken since the alcove, but the conventionality of the question was an easy icebreaker.

“Not far,” Cas replied, “A few blocks.”

“Let me walk you back,” Dean offered.

“I’ll be alright on my own,” Castiel replied. He’d seemed a little guarded since their make-out session and following conversation on the balcony.

“It’s late,” Dean pointed out, “And you’re wearing a tux.” At the stubborn set of Castiel’s jaw, Dean sighed. “At least let me get you a cab,” he said.

“Alright,” Cas relented.

Dean waved to one of the drivers and slipped a Ben in through the window.

“Get my friend here home safe, would you?” he told the cabbie.

“Yes, Sir, you can count on it,” the driver replied, tucking the bill away in his pocket.

Dean opened the door for Cas, ushering him in. He wanted very badly to kiss him goodnight, but thought better of it in present company. Instead he resigned himself to a light press to the small of Cas’s back as he climbed into the cab and a relaxed smile.

“Good night, Cas,” he said in a low voice.

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel rasped back.

Dean searched his deep blue eyes for a moment longer and then stepped back and closed the door.

He watched as the cab pulled away and disappeared down the street with a soft sigh, then turned and began the long walk back to the hotel.

He could have taken a cab himself, but he wasn’t much in the mood. The walk would give him the space he needed to seriously think about what his next move would be.

Honestly, though, most of it was spent thinking about Castiel’s lips against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here's a link to the opera Cas and Dean go to see, if anyone is interested. I literally just chose it off a google search for "operas with angels" and then turns out it has supernatural themes like demon possession, magic and YES even salt circles!! XD [ The Fiery Angel ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=463ENWC9WRQ)
> 
> Please take the time to comment and let me know what you think! ;D


	4. Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean loses a bet and his sweet tooth gets Cas in trouble.

* * *

Dean found Cas in the morning at his usual spot in the lobby, waiting to be useful. It was early yet, and not many guests were coming or going at this hour. Dean grabbed a cup of coffee from the lobby station and strode up to him.

“Hey,” he greeted over the rim of his coffee cup. He stood closer than a normal guest would, close enough to read the micro-expressions on the bellboy’s face.

When Castiel turned to him, Dean could have sworn his face brightened a little.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas greeted warmly.

“You’re looking well pressed as usual,” Dean said, grinning a little. “Did you make it home okay last night?”

“Yes, thank you,” Castiel replied. “I am surprised to see you up so early,” he commented, “We parted ways rather late.”

“I’m used to it,” Dean said. His grin slid crookedly across his face. “I’m like AC/DC that way.”

“How so?” Cas said. He tilted his head, not getting the reference. The look of soft bewilderment on his face had Dean staring at his lips and thinking about the night before.

“You know,” Dean said, hiding his smirk behind another sip of coffee, “I can go _all night long_.”

Cas turned a little red at that and shifted uncomfortably.

“You should not say things like that here,” Cas said in a hushed voice, glancing around briefly. His blue eyes shifted to the manager standing stiffly at the front desk. Dean glanced over as well.

“No way he can hear us,” he said.

“He is more perceptive than you would suspect,” Cas disagreed.

Dean pulled his arm gently, moving them behind one of the large pillars so that they were blocked from his view.

“What are you doing later?” Dean asked as soon as they were hidden from wandering eyes. He stepped in closer, dropping his voice. His fingers played lightly with the collar of Castiel’s red bellboy jacket. “I still feel bad for bailing on you last night. I want to make it up to you.”

Dean felt Cas’s breath catch as the back of his knuckles brushed his neck, felt his pulse beat rapidly under his skin and knew what his proximity was doing to the man.

“I cannot, I have work later,” Castiel said. The following hesitation was brief, a controlled inhale against his rising arousal. “But I am free tomorrow night.”

“Alright,” Dean said. “I’ll see you then. Same time, same place?” he asked.

Cas nodded once, and Dean grinned at him, happy for the second chance.

“You working the opera tonight?” Dean asked, if only to have an excuse to continue talking to the sexy bellboy.

“Yes,” Cas said, distracted. Dean’s fingers had moved to the back of his neck. His eyes fluttered closed. He shivered slightly, opening them and refocusing on the question. “I typically work two to three shows a week.”

“Damn,” Dean said. He let out a low whistle, his hand falling away from its teasing position. “After pulling a full shift here? When do you find time to have fun?”

“It is not so—” Castiel broke off as a guest passed by them, footsteps echoing across the polished marble floor. “I should get back to work,” he said, dropping his voice.

He started to turn away but Dean caught him by the arm before he could go.

“Hey. You get a break later, right?” Dean asked. At Cas’s nod, he continued. “Come up to my room. Not to—you know. I just…want to see you.”

Castiel shifted his weight and looked a little uncomfortable by the offer.

“And if I get caught?” he asked.

Dean furrowed his brow.

“Why would you get caught?”

Dean glanced around them for any wandering eyes, then leaned in to press his lips to Castiel’s. He meant for it to be no more than a light touch, but as soon as his mouth covered those wide, pale lips he wanted more. He pressed in closer, licking across his bottom lip before dipping his tongue inside for a quick taste.

Castiel’s eyes were a dark, stormy blue when he pulled back.

“Text me when you’re on your way up,” Dean told him softly.

He slipped his extra key card into the bellboy’s front pocket, fingers lingering against the bright red fabric of his coat before walking silently away.

* * *

The next few hours were pretty much torture for Dean. He passed the time playing _Hellhound IV_ on the hotel’s game system while he tried without much success to quell the antsy feeling rising in his gut. He’d invited Cas up to his room, yes, but honestly he hadn’t thought any further than that. He had no idea what he was planning on doing when the bellboy finally showed up, considering Cas had made it clear that sex was off the table, at least for now.

By the time Dean realized he maybe should have ordered them lunch, Cas’s text came through saying he was on his way.

There was a light knock on Dean’s door, then the electronic buzz of the key card going into the lock. Cas stepped through and shut it carefully behind him, turning around to find Dean waiting for him in the foyer. He blushed when his gaze flickered up to meet Dean’s gold-green eyes.

“I brought lunch,” Castiel said, gesturing to the plastic bag in his hand, “It isn’t anything fancy, I’m afraid, just what I was able to grab from the kitchen.” He seemed embarrassed at the admission, perhaps because it underlined the vast differences in their social status.

“Hey, so long as it tastes good I don’t give a shit where it comes from,” Dean said. He stepped closer to take the bag from Castiel, leaned down to press a chaste kiss on his lips. “Thanks,” he said when he pulled away.

Cas seemed more than a little uneasy at his proximity. He stepped back a little, crowding the door and drew in a short breath which he then let out through his nose in a carefully controlled exhale.

Dean peeked into the bag and pretended not to have noticed.

“Alright, sandwiches!”

They ate in the living room, where Dean still had the screen up and the game on pause. Castiel sat on the far end of the couch, purposefully placed away from Dean. Dean wondered if it was because he was uncomfortable being alone in Dean’s room, or if he just didn’t trust Dean to keep his hands to himself. Smart man, if it were the latter.

“What are you playing?” Cas asked suddenly, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. He nodded toward the TV.

“ _Hellhound IV_ ,” Dean replied around a bite of sandwich. “It’s about demons and shit. Basically your character makes this deal with the devil and he’s trying to gank the demon who holds the contract before the hellhounds catch up to him and drag him down to hell.” Dean shrugged. “It’s pretty cool, I guess. You even get a guardian angel to follow you around, help you out,” he said. “Kinda like you.” He grinned at Cas and winked.

“It sounds grim and unnecessarily violent,” Castiel said with a disdainful frown.

“Well, duh, it’s a video game.” Dean laughed. He pinned Cas with a look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never played video games before,” he said.

Castiel shook his head. “My parents did not approve of such things growing up.”

Dean stared at him.

“That’s it, we’re playing.” Dean set down his sandwich and picked up a controller.

Cas looked up at the TV, where a dead hellhound had sent a blood splatter across the screen. He winced.

“Is there perhaps another game we can play?” he asked.

Dean laughed.

“You sure? You could play the angel,” he joked. His grin only grew at the look Castiel was giving him—lips slightly pursed, eyes narrow and squinting. “Okay, fine,” Dean relented. “Ever heard of Mario Kart?”

“Yes, I believe I have heard of that one,” Castiel replied. His squint softened and his lips evened out so that there was now a slight smile to his otherwise serious face.

Dean couldn’t help but push a little further.

“Should we make it interesting? Raise the stakes?”

“That is hardly fair, considering I have never held one of these…what is this called, anyway?” Castiel asked, holding up the controller.

Dean laughed and told him.

“I’ll go easy on you,” he promised.

“Perhaps it would help to know what I am agreeing to,” Castiel said.

Dean felt the grin spread across his face like he was the fucking Cheshire cat.

“Strip. Mario,” he said, barely able to contain the dramatic flair.

Castiel blinked at him, and then his eyes squinted again, suspicious.

“I see. This is all just a ruse to get me out of my pants,” the bellboy said.

The grin on Dean’s face didn’t even waver.

“If you don’t want to…” he said. The tone in his voice was clear. _What are you, chicken?_

Castiel bristled at the unsaid implication. He was silent for a long moment, peering at Dean through squinted eyes as though he were considering something very seriously. For the life of him, Dean couldn’t figure out if it was _him_ Castiel was attempting to read or what. He did know that the look Cas was throwing him made him nervous, like maybe he underestimated the man somehow.

“Very well,” Cas said finally, “I believe we have enough time for one game before I must return to work.”

Which meant one piece of clothing of Dean’s choosing when he whipped Cas’s ass, and the personal satisfaction of peeling it off of him.

As if reading his mind, Castiel suddenly unsnapped the top three buttons on his jacket, revealing a long, pale neck underneath.

Dean swallowed hard and audibly on the small sofa.

Castiel’s bright blue eyes flickered to his, fingers lingering over the next button on his jacket. He stared at Dean, then unsnapped the next two. He settled closer to Dean on the sofa, thigh bumping against his. It stayed pressed to Dean’s leg, warmth seeping through the crisply pleated fabric of his uniform, sending small zings of pleasure spiraling to his inner thigh and up into his groin.

“Shall we begin?” Castiel asked in a low, gravelly voice.

Dean cleared his throat and shifted on the seat cushion, resisting the urge to rearrange himself.

“ _Aheh_ , yeah, let’s do this,” he said, turning his attention to the game.

He lost.

It was entirely Castiel’s fault. Perhaps if Dean hadn’t been so distracted by how close he was, the warmth and sharp scent of him, and the teasing gap of his open shirt as Cas leaned over his knees to play the game, he would have won. But it was painfully hard to win anything when he was so _painfully hard_.

Dean grunted and tossed the controller aside, slumping back against the cushions. Cas had a smug gleam in his eyes under his carefully arranged poker face and Dean was fairly sure he had done all of it—the shirt, the closeness, the sexy voice—on purpose. In fact, he’d swear to it.

“You play dirty,” he grumbled. He was pouting a little but felt it was justified.

“I merely leveled the playing field,” Castiel pointed out. “You cannot fault me just because you expected the game to be rigged.”

Dean made a face at him that probably made him look like a 5-year-old, but he didn’t care.

“Fine,” he relented. Dean then shifted up against the back of the couch. Perhaps this could still work in his favor. “So, name it. Which article of clothing would you care to have removed for your viewing pleasure?”

The seductive layer woven into his voice was enough to prompt the pink tinge creeping up Castiel’s bare neck.

“I believe your…shirt will suffice,” the bellboy replied with the slightest hesitation.

Well now, that was just plain old boring, and perhaps Dean could do something about that.

“Well, have at it, tiger,” he said. “’S no fun if I do it myself.”

Castiel flushed red at that, gulping down hard.

“T-that was not part of this…arrangement,” he said.

“Sure it was. You just didn’t know about it,” Dean replied. “Come on, you’re a big boy, right? It’s just a shirt.”

Castiel’s jaw ticked, sharp jawline clenching at the implied insult. Dean grinned at him, one side of his mouth tugging higher than the other in a flirtatious smirk.

“You know you wanna,” he said.

Castiel’s eyes flickered down to where the hem of his shirt hung down over the waistband to his jeans. He scooted a little closer and slid his hands under it, eyes focused and intense. He could have been disarming a bomb with that face, not undressing a dude.

When the shirt was past his navel, that was when Dean dropped the bomb he had hiding up his sleeve.

“Shame I wasn’t wearing the bathrobe from the other day,” he said suggestively. He grabbed the black fabric when Cas’s fingers fumbled and snapped away as though he’d been burned. Dean drew it the rest of the way over his head slowly, tugging it free and sliding it down his jacked biceps.

Castiel’s mouth puckered a little, caught off guard in the moment and wearing a look on his face like he had maybe tasted something he wasn’t expecting and couldn’t decide whether it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Dean didn’t wait for him to make up his mind. He tossed the shirt to the floor, placed a hand at the base of Castiel’s open neckline and leaned in for a kiss.

Castiel’s response was unexpectedly heated. His mouth yielded open, then pushed back against Dean and with a bold, raw power Dean hadn’t realized he possessed. Dean groaned a little at the intensity of it, opening wider to allow Cas’s tongue inside, rolled his own against the man’s fervent exploration.

The sound of a rapid beeping had Cas pulling back, leaving Dean gasping in his absence.

“My alarm,” Castiel explained, breathing heavily. “I need to get back to work.”

“Damnit,” Dean said, frowned. “Fuck it, Cas, five more minutes,” he pressed.

Castiel shook his head. He buttoned up his jacket, gave a light chuckle and pulled further away as Dean stole a kiss to his pale neck to stall him, then leaned back in to kiss Dean on the lips as he fastened the topmost snap.

“I will see you later,” Castiel promised, getting up from the couch.

Dean said nothing, just watched him go and let a long, frustrated breath out through his nose.

Tomorrow night felt more like next century from where he was sitting.

* * *

Growing up, Dean had been one of those kids who couldn’t keep his hand out of the cookie jar. Didn’t matter the consequences, he had a powerful sweet tooth that demanded to be sated.

As a man, he hadn’t changed all that much, only that his tastes had shifted from cookies to tail. But he still liked cookies.

The lobby typically had freshly baked cookies in time for check-in and Dean wandered downstairs to get some in the hopes of taking care of both cravings he was currently sporting in one go.

He wasn’t sure which he wanted more, the warm, gooey, chocolate-melted pastries or the sight of Castiel in that enticingly red bellboy uniform. It had only been a couple hours since he’d had Cas on his couch, in his room, tongue hot in his mouth, but if anything the encounter had left Dean more ravaged by this craving than ever.

Growing up the son of a wealthy businessman, Dean wasn’t used to picking and choosing. He got what he wanted when he wanted. He grabbed a couple cookies from the tray— _deliciously warm_ —and stepped up to the sexy bellboy. He held one of them out to Cas, who responded with a subtle smile and a shake of his head.

“I’m not allowed to eat on duty,” the bellboy explained.

“That sucks,” Dean said. He stuffed a cookie into his mouth whole and talked around it. “If it was me I wouldn’t be able to help myself. Freshly baked cookies within eyeshot, must be torture.”

“One learns to resist temptation,” Castiel replied. Dean blinked at him, because it almost sounded like Cas was flirting with him, though the subject matter was perhaps the oddest form of flirtation he’d ever encountered.

“Not me,” Dean said with a shameless grin. He swallowed down the glob of masticated cookie with a little difficulty. “I want something, I go get it. Simple as that.” He peered at Castiel, serious for once. “Life’s too short for anything else.”

“I suppose it is,” Cas agreed.

His gaze was torn away by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Dean looked over to see the hotel manager watching them closely. The dark-skinned man tilted his chin toward Cas, then flicked his head to signal that he had something to tell the bellboy. Cas’s eyes flickered back to Dean.

“Excuse me,” he said, turning away.

Dean frowned, watching him retreat. He wondered what was so goddamn important that the manager needed to talk to Cas _right this red-hot second_. Couldn’t it have waited? It wasn’t like things were busy at the moment. Plus, Dean was a guest. It was rude.

He watched as the manager placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, peering at him and saying something that seemed extremely important but also something Castiel didn’t want to hear judging by the steely look on his face and the way he turned his head to the side. Dean wondered what it could be. Then Cas’s eyes flickered up and met with his briefly before looking away. He turned back to the manager and said something in a short, curt manner, resignation heavy on his face. The manager nodded and released his shoulder, shot Dean a disapproving look, and wandered off to the office behind the front desk.

Dean sidled up to Cas. The bellboy was still staring after where the manager had disappeared, his body tense and his lips pressed together tightly.

“What was that all about?” Dean asked him.

“Uriel has noticed our…attraction for one another,” Castiel explained. He was holding himself stiff as a board, arms ramrod straight at his sides. His voice shook a little as he spoke, and Dean thought he detected a line of anger underneath his carefully constructed resolve. “He warned me against fraternizing with guests.”

Dean snorted. “What a dick,” he said, “I mean, what we do is none of his business.”

“It is when it reflects upon the hotel’s image,” Castiel pointed out.

“So we just gotta be more careful,” Dean said. He made a frustrated sound. “Guess this means no more lunch dates. Good thing we got the real thing tomorrow.”

Guilt crept into those bottomless blue eyes as Castiel looked up at him.

“I am sorry, Dean, but this…changes things. I cannot go with you tomorrow. I was told to keep things strictly professional or else I could lose my job.”

Dean felt his face fall. His lips bobbed for a soundless moment as the words hit.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said finally. In his eyes was reflected his sudden shock and disappointment. “We’re meeting outside the hotel, Cas. He’ll never even know.”

Castiel shook his head, eyes dropping to the floor.

“I cannot risk it,” he said, voice low, gravelly, and filled with regret. “I should never have let myself become so…involved to begin with. It was…nice, while it lasted.”

The tone in his voice was final.

“Shit,” Dean cursed. The rejection stung, and his eyes prickled. He took a deep breath. “What if we… I mean—can’t we at least still be friends?”

Castiel looked up at Dean, deep blue eyes swimming with desire, and Dean could tell he wanted to say yes. He let out a quiet sigh instead and looked away. “You and I both know that wouldn’t be a good idea. In fact, I think it is best if we do not interact at all. If you need something, you can ask the front desk and they can coordinate it for you.” His face fell further, and he looked downright miserable. He started to turn away.

“Cas—hey, come on. This is bullshit,” Dean insisted, catching his arm and practically begging, “It’s not like I’m going to be a guest here forever.”

“No, you will be leaving in a few days,” Castiel said, as if the admission was supposed to make them both feel better, like it hadn’t been true from the start. “All the more reason not to start anything,” he said, as though he were trying to convince himself. Instead he just looked tired. “Excuse me, I have duties to attend to,” he said quietly. He shrugged off Dean’s grip and then turned and walked away.

Dean let out a frustrated sound and rubbed the back of his head in a sudden flare of anger, slapping his hand down against his leg. _Bullshit_ , his mind supplied. There was no way he was letting this go so easily.

With another angry huff, Dean made his way over to the check-in counter. The girl, Anna, was there. A carefully blank look was arranged across her face which told Dean she had seen and overheard their entire conversation.

“Got any booze behind the counter?” Dean opened. He fell limp over the check-in desk, dropping his forehead to the counter.

Anna reached into the bottom drawer and placed two nips of whiskey next to him on the counter. Dean grabbed one, unscrewed it, and downed it in one go.

“You were watching that, right?” Dean asked her once he’d sucked the last drop onto his tongue. It was more of a rhetorical question but she nodded, regardless. Dean looked at her with the same sad green eyes he’d used on her the night before, though this time they were naked and without pretense. “What the hell did I do?”

Anna offered him a small, apologetic smile.

“Nothing, I’m afraid,” she said, “That’s just the way he is sometimes.”

“So what do I do now?” Dean asked her.

The smile on Anna’s face dropped into a contemplative frown. She stared at Castiel from across the room, who glanced up and seemed uncomfortable that she and Dean were chatting. Anna’s gaze didn’t waver, however, and after a moment Cas decided he had things to do elsewhere and moved toward the elevators. Anna turned back to Dean.

“Whatever you do, don’t give up on him,” she said.

“You guys are friends, right? Can’t you talk some sense into him?” Dean asked. He twisted open the other nip.

Anna shook her head.

“I’ve known Castiel for a long time. When he makes his mind up about something, it’s almost impossible to change it.”

“Great,” Dean said. He took a swig of whiskey. “Basically, I’m screwed,” he concluded. “Or not, depending on how you look at it,” he added in jest, though there was no humor in his voice.

Anna frowned at him, her eyes determined and intense.

“There might be a way,” she amended. She paused, thinking. “Let me see what I can do,” she said.

“Thanks,” Dean said. This time the look on his face was one of relief.

Anna gave Dean a little smile.

“You really like him that much?” she asked. It wasn’t meant as a question, but Dean answered it anyway.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted, dropping his gaze to the countertop. The small bottle of whiskey hung between his fingertips. “I really do.” He fell quiet for a moment, then shook himself and glanced back at the redhead. “Don’t tell him I said that,” he said quickly.

Anna winked at him.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “Your secret is safe with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I passed chapter 10 at 50,000+ words this week, so I'm pretty excited about that! I also added a tentative chapter tally to the work and will adjust it accordingly as I plan things out more. I can already feel this one's going to be an epic (actually, I knew that at the start...) and I just hope I can keep up with it! 
> 
> (Comments help!!)


	5. Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has his work cut out for him where Cas is concerned, but luckily he's got some allies on his side.

* * *

It was Saturday morning and the work week was officially over, but Dean for once had a lot to do.

There was only one way that he could see this thing with Cas working out. He needed more time, and he needed to vacate The Plaza.

Maybe this was where things had been headed all along. Dean didn’t know. He rather felt like the decision he made the night before while trying desperately to sleep and _not_ think about the sad look in Castiel’s eyes when he told Dean they had to stay away from each other was a decision made outside of him. Like it was bigger than he was. Like it was fate or something, only Dean didn’t believe in fate. He believed in carving out his own path in life and…yeah, maybe part of his decision last night had been to actually _start_ doing that for a change rather than coasting by on his father’s coattails.

Maybe it was foolish to be making plans for the future so soon, but Dean wanted to give this thing with Cas…whatever it was, a chance. A _real_ chance, and he couldn’t do that living on the other side of the country.

That meant staying in New York, and he couldn’t do that without his dad’s approval. Dean was supposed to be learning the family business, so the only way to get his dad on board with him staying behind in New York was if Dean got serious about running the company with him.

John would be back from California the following afternoon. Dean wanted to have his ducks in a row before he arrived.

He started by looking for apartments. His father’s company was the obvious choice, but nothing was available that met with his tastes so he opened up his search.

There was a loft for sale not too far away off Broadway, seventh floor. Nice neighborhood, good security, active nightlife just a few blocks from the front door. And a beautiful view of the park.

Dean made an offer with the realtor, grabbed a coffee, and then moved on to office space.

He could always work from home, but he planned on growing the spattering of properties currently owned by his father’s company into a full-blown New York branch and he would need the offices to make that happen. _Winchester Enterprises_ was moving East.

He found a floor in a modern high-rise that was ready for immediate use and left a deposit.

He really hoped he could convince his dad to get on board with everything, because there was no way in hell Dean would be able to cover costs with his monthly allowance, no matter how generous it was.

Dean found now more than ever that he wanted to succeed on his own. He was done accepting handouts from his father. He wanted to build a life here in the city with Cas—if they ever had a first date—and he wanted to prove to himself that he could make that happen.

He hadn’t gotten an MBA like his father had wanted—he’d tried the college thing after high school but had ended up sleeping around more than studying and had dropped out in his first semester. John hadn’t been happy about it, but thankfully his father hadn’t cut him off. In fact, Dean had gotten a generous allowance and the freedom to do what he pleased.

Dean suspected John’s strategy at the time was to let his renegade son party in his early twenties with the hopes that he would get it out of his system in a few years and come to his senses. If that _had_ been his goal, then it had worked only in that it had led him here.

He only hoped his father would be willing to take him seriously.

There was one sure-fire way John would do that. Dean had to prove he was capable of running the company. That meant getting results.

Perhaps there _was_ something more he could do. Dean pulled out his phone and dialed the realtor he’d met with that morning.

“Pam? It’s Dean. Winchester,” Dean paused, listening to the voice on the other line. “No, I’m not backing out. In fact, I have another proposition in mind.” He laughed. “Not that kind of a proposition. Are you free for lunch?”

* * *

A couple hours later, Dean found himself seated at the hotel restaurant across the table from the realtor, Pamela, giving her his pitch for the New York branch of _Winchester Enterprises_.

“So I was thinking, start with a few rental properties, a couple of commercial spaces, and then even things out managing say…fifty or so properties.” Dean leaned forward on his elbows, hovering over the small table toward the woman on the other side of it. Between them sat two plates of expensive steak and a bottle of merlot. The realtor, Pamela, had her arms crossed and was leaning back in her chair throwing Dean a look like he was the slab of meat she would prefer laid out on the table. Dean cleared his throat. “So? You know of anyone who’s looking to sell?”

Pam took a sip of wine and teased the glass between her fingers. “Maybe,” she replied. “Honestly, I was kind of hoping you were lying about this being a business meeting.” She grinned lasciviously at Dean. “Never could say no to a nice piece of meat with my meat,” she added, gesturing with her glass to her plate.

Dean cleared his throat again, slightly uncomfortable by her forwardness but flattered all the same. “I could order you another steak,” he offered.

Pam laughed. “You drive a hard bargain,” she said. She peered at Dean for a long minute. “Alright Mr. ‘Playing hard to get’. I might have a few properties in mind for what you’re looking for.”

“Good,” Dean said, “And for the record, not playing hard to get, not even saying I’m not interested. I’m just not on the menu.”

“What, is there a Mrs. Winchester I don’t know about?” Pamela needled.

Dean’s eyes flickered up to the entrance to the restaurant. Castiel was just barely visible in the lobby beyond, doing a very good job pretending that he wasn’t eavesdropping in on them.

Dean looked back at Pam and laughed. “ _Hell_ no,” he said. “I just don’t happen to be in the market for that right now. What I _am_ looking for is a good deal.” He looked at her pointedly.

“Well, if that’s the case,” Pam said, placing her wine glass down with a lighthearted shrug, “I’ll see what I can scrounge up.”

“Good,” Dean said. He raised his glass. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Pamela clinked her glass against his, the grin on her face only growing. “Oh, believe me,” she said, “the pleasure’s all mine.”

* * *

Dean ushered Pamela out of the hotel and into a cab with the promise that she would send over a list of properties for his consideration later that day. Dean waved her off and then turned back inside, his mind a million miles away as he thought about everything they had discussed over the steak, and everything he still had yet to do before his father’s return.

He practically ran into Castiel on his way to the elevators.

“Shit, sorry,” Dean said quickly, stopping abruptly and narrowly missing the bellboy.

Cas shot him a narrow-eyed glower and straightened his jacket, mumbling “It’s fine,” before stepping around Dean.

“Hey,” Dean called out, before he could get too far away. “I just had a meeting with a—”

“Yes, I saw. You certainly don’t waste any time,” Cas interrupted, his voice rigid and biting.

Dean’s jaw sagged a little, shocked by the contempt aimed at him. “We were discussing _business_ ,” he said.

“I’m sure.” The fire in Castiel’s eyes was unmistakable and clearly directed at him.

“Hey,” Dean said, instantly annoyed. “You’re the one who said to stay away, so you’ve got no right being a jealous little bitch.”

“So I did,” Castiel replied with a curt nod. “Now, if you will excuse me.” He turned away.

Dean let out a frustrated groan and slid a hand over his face. He never could control his mouth.

“Cas, wait,” Dean called, chasing after him. He grabbed the bellboy by the arm to stop him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you are right,” Castiel said. His voice was strained as he attempted to hide the fact that he was clearly upset. He tried to pull his arm away but Dean just strengthened his grip. “We are nothing to one another. It is therefore…inappropriate of me to comment on your personal life.”

Dean frowned at him.

“You’re not nothing to me,” he said. He thought Cas’s poker face broke just a little, but it was back up before he could register the change. Dean sighed. “Come on, don’t be like that. It was just a lunch.”

“Let go,” Castiel demanded, staring down at Dean’s hand around his upper arm, “Before Uriel sees and I lose my job,” he said. “Not that you would understand what that’s like.”

Dean dropped his hand as though it had been slapped away, staring at Castiel in shock. The words stung, more than he cared to admit.

“I am trying to change,” Dean told him softly.

“Men of your type never change,” Castiel bit back.

This time when he turned away, Dean didn’t go after him.

Dean sighed and turned back down the hallway, hand at the back of his neck. He looked up to see Zachariah’s smug face standing not five feet away. The very last person on the planet Dean wanted to run into right about now.

“Trouble in paradise?” the man asked.

“Fuck off, Zachariah,” Dean snapped, elbowing past him to get to the elevators.

His missing suitcase was set inside the entrance to his room when he opened the door. Castiel must have brought it up while he was downstairs having lunch. Somehow the sight of the innocent piece of luggage sitting there—placed carefully by the door—felt like an insult.

* * *

As promised, Pam sent over the list of properties for Dean to mull over. He did so with less enthusiasm than before. He was starting to get the feeling that he was barking up the wrong tree where Castiel was concerned, and wondered if it was wise to be making all these rash decisions without knowing if the man was even interested in him anymore.

He decided to push on, regardless. He had to believe it wasn’t too late. Anna had said not to give up, so that’s what he was going to do.

Dean took his work into the lobby for a change of scenery after a few hours holed up in his room, grabbing another coffee from the counter. He avoided Cas’s cold gaze and set up behind an industrious plant where he could steal glances at the sexy bellboy without him noticing. It was a strategic seat, and he caught Cas’s gaze wandering in his direction more than once.

Dean grinned smugly into his coffee and pushed forward with his work with renewed fervor. Whatever Cas had going on, the man was clearly still interested, despite everything he might say to push Dean away. Dean let his mind wander back to their kiss the day before, the feel of Castiel’s slim frame pressed up against Dean in a strange formula of yielding masculinity, all soft lines to Dean’s hard angles.

He shifted in the plush lounge chair, readjusting himself with as much subtlety as he could muster. He peered through the leaves of the plant and caught Cas turning his gaze away again.

He hoped Anna came through quickly. This pitiful game of cat and mouse—or was that _Cas_ and mouse?—really had to stop.

Thankfully Dean did not need to wait very long for ‘Anna’s Miraculous Cure’. He had just grabbed another cup of steaming coffee and was admiring the view from his plant-adorned lounge chair again when the redheaded clerk strode up to him, all business and no pretense.

“Here,” she said, handing a slip of paper to Dean. He took it from her and shot her a confused look.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“I convinced Cas to come dancing with me tonight,” Anna explained. “That’s where we’ll be. Around ten.”

“Thanks,” Dean told her, and for once in his life it was a genuine admission.

“It’s not just for you,” Anna told him. “Cas has never showed interest in anyone, not since I’ve known him. From what he’s told me, it’s because of his ex.” She hesitated, shifting on her feet as she decided on how much to entrust to Dean. “He was a lot like you, I think. Partier, bit of a playboy, afraid to commit. Cas knows it and now that he’s got an excuse to run away he’s convinced himself you’re a bad idea. Probably saw you with one to many women.”

Dean blinked up at her and wondered who she was talking about.

“Maybe I am a bad idea,” Dean admitted to her, avoiding her eyes. He took a deep breath. As long as they were being honest with each other, he may as well lay all his cards out on the table. He looked back at her. “I’m trying not to be that person anymore.”

“So prove him wrong,” Anna said.

With that, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and left Dean to ponder everything she’d just told him.

Dean felt his stomach do a bit of a flop. _Prove him wrong_. Right. No pressure or anything.

It took Dean a long time before he was able to focus back on his work.

* * *

Dean didn’t quite know what to expect when he arrived at the place Anna had scribbled down for him. Actually, scribble wasn’t the right word. Anna had impeccable hand writing that put Dean’s chicken scratches to shame. She was one of those people who could pass off as a laser printer if she really tried.

Dean wished he’d gotten her number before coming here tonight, because now that he was here he wasn’t sure what to do.

The club…well, it was more of a bar and lounge trying to be club, to be honest. There were lights going on the dance floor and that signature techno beat keeping the patrons grinding against one another, but the dance floor was sequestered toward the back of the place with the bar and couches making up the front. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as most of the places Dean frequented. He could actually hear himself think, for one, and it was refreshing to be able to walk around without having to fight through throngs of drunk, horny idiots.

It made finding who he was looking for a hell of a lot easier than he had expected. He caught a glimpse of a brown mop of hair. Castiel. His slight form was draped in an indigo blue tee that flowed over the lean muscles of his back in a way which both defined him yet left much to the imagination. Dean was momentarily stunned—it was the first time he’d seen Cas in normal clothes. He was wearing dark jeans to match the tee that fit the rounded shape of his ass in a way that had Dean’s hands twitching. Something else twitched at the sight too.

Anna was standing next to the bellboy, ear tilted to something Cas was telling her but she only half seemed to be listening. Dean headed toward them and waved as Anna’s eyes glanced up. She grinned when she saw him. From this angle, Dean could see the slight downturn to Cas’s lips when he realized his friend wasn’t listening to him any longer. The bellboy turned to see what had drawn her attention and Dean watched as his eyes narrowed.

“Dean.”

Dean stopped in front of him, nervous as hell all of a sudden. Possibly because of the glare Castiel was shooting him.

“Uh, hey Cas,” he forced out, swallowing against a sudden and painfully dry mouth. He should have gotten a drink first. “Imagine running into you here.”

“Yes, imagine that,” Castiel replied dryly. He glanced at Anna and seemed to realize what had happened. “I’m leaving,” he declared, turning for the door.

Anna stepped in front of him.

“You are not,” she said sternly.

Cas frowned at her.

“Anna, get out of my way,” he said. He seemed calm, but there was a line of anger in his voice.

“No,” Anna refused. She crossed her arms stubbornly. Cas made to move around her but she blocked him again.

“ _Anna_.”

“Cas—” Dean started, reaching for his shoulder. He stopped when Castiel turned and glared at him again, his hand dropping away. “Come on, don’t take it out on her, okay? She was just trying to help.”

“There is nothing to be helped,” Castiel said. He frowned at Dean. “I told you it is over between us.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to be over,” Dean told him. He clenched his jaw. Stubborn Cas was really starting to piss him off.

“It is not up to you,” Castiel pointed out. His eyes narrowed as he glared up at Dean. “Kindly find someone else to stalk for the remainder of your stay,” he bit out.

“I’m not—” Dean started, but Cas interrupted him.

“It is not up for discussion.”

He turned to leave again, and found himself face to face with an angry redhead.

“Castiel,” Anna said, “You will listen to what he has to say, or I will hold you down while you do.” It was clear by the intensity in her powerful green eyes that she was in _no way_ bluffing.

“One dance, Cas, come on,” Dean pleaded.

Cas looked between him and Anna.

“I don’t have a choice in this, do I?” he asked with a frown.

“No,” Anna said. Her face softened into a smile. “Go on, it’ll be good for you.”

Castiel reluctantly let Dean grab his hand and pull him out onto the dance floor. Dean settled his hands on Cas’s waist, swaying to the music.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Cas said firmly to him. He stood stubbornly rigid under Dean’s hands.

Dean frowned and dropped them away from his waist.

“Cas, if you’d give me a chance to explain,” Dean said, huffing in frustration, “I’ve been trying to tell you that I found an apartment. I plan on stickin’ around.”

A piece of Castiel’s carefully constructed wall broke a little at that. He blinked up at Dean.

“You did?” he asked. The edge in his voice was tentative.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Dean said again. He scowled at Cas. “You can be a stubborn little shit, you know that?” Dean took a breath, calming his irritation and trying again. “I’m not an idiot Cas. I know you’re probably thinking I just want to get in your pants, and okay, maybe that’s true but that’s not my end game here.” He scoffed a little, incredulous. “Christ, you really think I’d be doing all this for a quick fuck?”

The look on Castiel’s face fell somewhere between shocked and guarded.

“No, I don’t,” Castiel replied softly.

“Then what the hell is the problem?” Dean demanded. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Castiel said, shaking his head.

“Is this about the other day?” Dean asked, “The woman I was with? I told you, Cas, that was just business. She’s the realtor for the apartment I’m getting, and she’s helping me scope things out so I can get the New York branch up and running. That’s all it is.”

“That is not all it seemed to be,” Castiel argued. He looked away, blue eyes blazing.

“So I flirted with her, so what?” Dean said. He huffed. “I’m an attractive guy. People notice. They flirt, I flirt back. It doesn’t mean anything. But if it bothers you that much then I won’t do it anymore.”

“You needn’t stop on my account,” Castiel said stiffly, still avoiding his eyes.

Dean’s brow pinched together, confused.

“But it bothers you,” he pressed. He chased Castiel’s gaze when he looked away again. “It does, right?”

At Castiel’s curt nod, Dean made an exasperated face at him.

“So I won’t do it anymore,” he promised.

“You should not make promises like that,” Castiel said quietly.

“Why not?” Dean pressed.

“Because you may not be able to keep them,” Castiel replied.

Dean frowned at him.

“You don’t think I’m capable of more,” he said. The admission made him angrier than he expected.

“No, it’s not that,” Castiel said, giving a little shake of his head.

“Then what is it?” Dean pressed.

“It is difficult to explain…” Castiel trailed off and stared off into the crowd of undulating bodies, eyes squinting as he tried to think of a way to explain it where Dean could understand. “Life never stands still.”

They were strange words, out of the blue. Castiel glanced up at Dean and seemed to know this. He continued.

“People are never the same from one moment to the next. Always we are changing, becoming someone different with each new second that we live.”

Dean was quiet. Castiel seemed to be getting to a point, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it could be.

“It is how a person can mean something one minute and break it in the next,” Cas said. His voice dropped to a soft, gravely rumble as he looked down at his feet. “They can suddenly and inexplicably decide they want nothing to do with you.”

“What are you saying, Cas?” Dean asked him. He didn’t like where this was headed.

“You will not be satisfied with me,” Cas said, looking up at him. “After a while you will want more. It is in your nature.”

“I think that’s probably up to me to decide,” Dean said. He let out a short puff of air through his nose. “What the hell would you know about my nature anyway?”

“I have dated men like you before,” Castiel explained, “Men who also promised me things…and who then broke those promises as soon as things got too serious. I will not make that mistake again.”

“Your ex, right? Anna mentioned something about that.” Dean growled low in his throat, frustrated. “No offense, Cas, but that’s bullshit,” he said, “And you can’t know what I want because I haven’t even told you what it is yet.”

Castiel looked up at him, eyes squinting as if trying to peer into him.

“What do you want, Dean?” he asked directly.

Dean took a breath, holding it in his chest as he answered.

“I want you,” he replied, “This. Whatever _this_ is.”

Castiel snorted a little and looked away.

“You have not heard me,” he said. He sounded disappointed.

“Yeah, I have, and like I said, I think it’s bullshit,” Dean argued, “People want things all the time, sure. And yeah, maybe they change over time and turn into different people who want different things, but what if…what if they meet someone and they want to change to be better for that person? What happens then?” He trailed his fingers down Cas’s arm, grasping his hand lightly in his. “Jesus, Cas, I wouldn’t be sticking around if I thought any less of you. I want this.”

“I don’t doubt that you do,” Castiel said. “My ex, when he gave me his commitment…I know he meant it. But then things changed, and he stopped meaning it.”

“So what’re you gonna do, Cas?” Dean challenged him, “Never take anyone at their word ever again? Never trust anyone ever again?” He exhaled through his nose sharply. “That’s a hell of a way to live,” he noted with derision.

“Nevertheless…” Castiel paused, then shook his head. “I am sorry, Dean. I am not convinced that it would work out between us.”

Dean’s face fell. He dropped Castiel’s hand, feeling his heart sink into his shoes.

“Give me tonight, Cas,” Dean pleaded, voice rough. He looked up at Cas from under thick golden lashes. “Dance with me. Let me have tonight and I’ll prove it to you.”

Castiel’s eyes softened for the first time that night. They seemed sad, worn down by Dean’s sincere words and light touches. He gave Dean a slight nod.

“…Okay,” he said in resignation. He looked up at Dean. “But if I am not convinced…we go our separate ways and forget this ever happened.”

Dean’s eyes grew angry but determined.

“Fine. If that’s what you want at the end of the night, then I can do that,” he said.

It was rather difficult to pretend everything was hunky-dory between them after that. Dean tried anyway, determined to prove Cas wrong. He settled his hands back on Castiel’s waist and swayed with him to the music. Castiel was stiff at first, but after a few minutes and more than a few embarrassing dance moves—courtesy of Dean, who couldn’t help showing him his goofy side—he warmed up.

Then they were grinding against one another and the sparks were flying.

Dean’s nose was in Cas’s hair, eyelids nearly closed as he breathed over the man’s ear. Castiel’s cheek was pressed to his, his lips level with Dean’s jaw. Their hips and thighs fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, all rough, scratchy denim. Dean’s hands gripped Cas’s hips, fingers brushing up under the edge of his satiny-cotton tee, which rippled between them with every shift and bump.

Castiel’s hands were on his waist, long, elegant fingers gripping the dark fabric of Dean’s shirt. They shifted every now and then and crawled up his ribs, or fell lower to his hips, as if he couldn’t quite make up his mind where to put them.

Dean finally grabbed them and guided them up to loop around his neck, then settled his own back on Cas’s hips. He grinned down into blue eyes that peered up at him with an intensity that made his breath catch.

The song ended and they stopped moving, standing still out on the dance floor even as the next song picked up. Neither of them heard it. They were too busy staring at one another, drawing ragged breaths as their skin tingled everywhere it made contact. Castiel’s eyes flitted down to Dean’s lips, then back up to his eyes.

He leaned in a little closer, and for a moment Dean thought he was going to kiss him. He licked his lips in anticipation…

Then Cas was pulling back and stepping out from the circle of his arms. He swiveled his head away, seeming suddenly agitated.

“I’m thirsty,” he declared, a bit awkwardly and with a gruff edge to his voice.

“Buy you a drink?” Dean offered, pretending not to notice.

At Castiel’s short nod he took the bellboy by the elbow and led him over to the bar.

Dean was still trying to figure out how to win Cas over when he realized the girl behind the bar looked strangely familiar. He knew her from somewhere. Dean stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the blonde head that bent over the counter, wiping it down.

Suddenly Castiel and the night’s whole agenda was forgotten as his brain registered who it was.

“Jo?”

The petite, firecracker of a girl paused in her cleaning and looked up from the counter. Her blue eyes went wide in pleasant surprise.

“ _Dean_?”

Castiel’s eyes flickered between them.

“You know one another?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean answered him quickly, glancing over at him. He turned back to his friend. “Jo, what the hell are you doing here?” Dean blurted. He could barely believe his eyes. Of all the people to run into.

“What does it look like?” Jo replied, throwing him a look, “I’m workin’.”

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes.

“I mean, what are you doing in New York?” he asked, “I thought you were in Nebraska helping your mom run that little joint out by Route 83.”

Jo shrugged. “I dunno. Needed a change of scene,” she said. “Mom and I…well, you know how she can get.”

Dean nodded. He did know.

Jo set down the glass she was drying. “So, who’s your friend?” she asked.

“This is Cas,” Dean introduced, “Cas this is Jo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Castiel said, holding out his hand. Jo leaned over the bar and gave it a good strong shake. Castiel glanced between them. “How do you know one another?” he asked.

“Me and Dean go way back,” Jo supplied with a smile. “Don’t we, Dean?”

“Since the diaper and booties days,” Dean replied, grinning at the blonde.

“You’re not supposed to tell anyone that!” Jo said. She scrunched up her face and snapped him on the arm with the bar towel.

Castiel seemed amused. “Is that so?” He looked back to Dean, who was grinning down at him, and Dean thought maybe there was something in that look that hadn’t been there since the night they were at the opera.

Jo had her arms crossed and was leaning over the counter, a soft smile on her face as she watched the two of them.

“Well, boys, what’ll it be? On the house.”

Dean looked back to her and scowled.

“You don’t have to—” he started, but Jo held up a hand and interrupted him.

“I don’t care how much money you have Dean, I’m allowed to treat my friend and his date to a drink,” she said. She was giving Dean a stink eye that reminded him an awful lot of her mother.

“I never said I was—we’re just f-friends,” Dean blurted.

Jo gave him a look that said _oh really?_ Dean flushed a little and wagged his lips but no sound came out. He’d never _told_ Jo he was into guys…was it really that obvious?

“So, what’ll it be?” Jo asked, leaning forward on the counter as she completely ignored the fact that Dean was silently freaking out. “Name it and it’s yours.”

“Beer,” Dean said gruffly, finding his voice. He turned to Cas.

“I’ll have a bourbon old fashioned,” Castiel said.

“Nice choice,” Jo said. She slid over Dean’s beer and then grabbed the ingredients for Cas’s drink from under the counter, “You know, a bartender can tell a lot about a person from their order,” she said.

“Is that so?” Castiel asked.

“Yep,” Jo said, pouring out the bourbon. “Dean’s boring. He’ll either go for beer or whiskey. Doesn’t matter how rich his family is, he’ll drink the cheap stuff and enjoy it just the same as anything you’d get from the top shelf.”

“Jo,” Dean said with a frown, “You mind not telling him all my dirty secrets?”

“If you wanted me to shut my trap then you shouldn’t have mentioned the diapers,” Jo shot back at him.

Cas laughed at her quick wit, and Dean just frowned into his beer.

“What does my drink say about me?” Castiel asked, his interest peaked.

“Most bartenders these days would say ‘pretentious and boring,’ but I don’t agree with ‘em,” Jo replied. Her hands worked swift yet precise as she mixed his drink. “When a guy orders a classic, it’s because he knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to ask for it, regardless of whatever anyone else thinks,” she said, “The fact you ordered it with bourbon tells me you actually are a bit old-fashioned, like the name suggests, and you’ve got the tastes to match it.” Jo concluded her lecture by sliding the glass over to Cas, who took a sip.

Castiel’s eyebrows instantly raised in surprise.

“This is very good,” he said. “I judge a bartender on how well they make this drink, and this is…perhaps the best I’ve had.”

“Thanks,” Jo said. She rested her cheek against her fist and grinned up at Dean. “Better step it up, Dean, he’s way out of your league,” she said.

Dean just scowled at her. “Don’t you have a job to do?” he said.

Jo winked at the two of them and shuffled off to the other end of the bar, where some poor sap had been attempting to catch her attention for a few minutes now.

Dean made sure her back was turned, then stuffed a twenty into her tip jar. He placed a hand at Cas’s back and led him away.

“Why did you do that?” Castiel asked as they made their way back to the dance floor.

“What, the tip?” Dean looked a little uncomfortable. “Because I know she can probably use the cash.” He gazed down into his drink, “And because she’s like a sister to me and it’s pretty much all I can do for her,” he said. He hoped he didn’t look too guilty and that Cas wouldn’t press any further.

But, as always, Castiel’s astuteness caught him off guard.

“You care for her,” Castiel said, squinting at him, “but not in the way she should like.” It wasn’t a question. Dean gave him a short nod, refusing to look up from his beer.

“She deserves better than me,” Dean mumbled.

“And me?” Castiel asked. Dean glanced up at him, then away just as quickly.

“Yeah, so do you, probably,” Dean said, looking ashamed. “I’m not exactly the kind of guy you’d want to bring home to meet your mother.”

Castiel didn’t say anything—didn’t argue, didn’t agree with him, just peered at him with his head tilted to the side and his eyes squinted in a way that had Dean feeling like he was reading something between the lines that Dean didn’t want him to. If Dean had any idea what the hell it was, maybe he could put a stop to it.

He mentally kicked himself. He was supposed to be convincing Cas that he was someone worth giving a second chance, not the opposite.

“So, uh, did you want to dance some more?” he asked, breaching the awkward silence.

“I should find Anna, make sure she is alright,” Cas said.

Dean nodded. He followed Castiel as he wound his way through the crowd, eyes peeled for a flash of long, red hair.

They found Anna in the lounge area cozied up to a man on one the sofas. Dean snorted into his beer.

“Looks like she’s doing just fine,” he said. Anna had her arms wound around the scruffy-bearded man on the couch with her, lips pressed against his.

Dean took Cas’s hand and led him over to one of the other couches. Castiel sat down carefully, while Dean plopped heavily next to him, a testimony to the differences between them. Dean placed his beer on the table and took Cas’s drink from him, setting it aside his.

He gazed into Castiel’s brilliant blue eyes for a long moment before slipping a hand behind his neck and leaning in to kiss him.

Cas pulled back from him, turning his head away so that Dean almost got a mouthful of his hair. He stopped short, just in time.

“Dean,” Castiel said in a low voice. He looked at Dean sideways. “I agreed to dance with you only.”

“You agreed to give me tonight,” Dean corrected him, “Night’s not over.” He pinned Cas with a disapproving frown. “It’s one kiss, Cas,” he said.

“It is not just a kiss,” Castiel replied softly, eyes downcast.

Dean’s frown grew.

“So what if it isn’t?” Dean asked him. He let go and sat back against the couch. “Fuck, Cas, don’t pretend you aren’t enjoying yourself. If you really don’t want this, tell me and I’ll back off for good. I’m tired of this hot and cold bullshit, and I’m a moron for thinking a little bit of dancing and a drink or two was going to get you to change your mind ‘cuz I mean, hell, what else am I _supposed_ to do?” Dean felt his brows dive together as he tried to think around the problem and came up empty. _Again_. “I already said I was sticking around, and that’s _two_ girls now I’ve passed up cuz I can’t stop thinking about—” Dean broke off and let out a growl, running a hand through his hair. “I told Anna I wouldn’t give up but honestly? I don’t know what else to do.”

When Castiel merely stared down at his lap and didn’t say anything, Dean let out a harsh laugh.

“Right, okay. I get the message. Loud and clear.” He shot to his feet, anger rising in response to the biting rejection. “See you around, I guess.”

“Dean.”

A hand suddenly gripped his wrist. Dean stopped and turned back to the man on the sofa. Castiel was looking away from him. There was a pained expression on his face.

“I have hurt you,” Cas said softly, letting his hand drop away. He glanced up at Dean, who frowned down at him.

“That’s generally what happens when you expect the worst of people, Cas,” Dean said bitterly. He felt the anger rising again.

“I do not think you are a bad person, Dean,” Castiel said.

“No, you just think I’m after your ass, like Zachariah was,” Dean bit back at him. It was a low blow. Castiel winced a little at the sharp words. He nodded slightly.

“I suppose I deserved that,” he said.

Dean frowned and stepped in front of him, turning fully to face him. The man on the sofa peered up at him, his blue eyes sad.

“Either you like me or you don’t, Cas,” Dean said, “I’m done chasing you.” Dean paused, hesitating. “Maybe we should just be friends.”

It hurt just to suggest it, but Dean was quickly learning that Anna had been right. There wasn’t much he could do to change Cas’s mind once the man had dug in his heels. Cas looked away and nodded again, distracted.

“Yes, I suppose that would be best,” Castiel agreed, voice wilting. And it might have been Dean’s own wishful thinking but he almost seemed disappointed.

Dean gave a curt nod, his lips pressed together to hide the anger building in him again. He had been hoping Castiel would not rise to meet his bluff. He suddenly needed more than ever to be anywhere but here.

“Great. Glad that’s over with. Least I found out now before I actually _bought_ an apartment,” Dean said bitterly, turning away.

There was a clatter behind him. Dean turned back to find Castiel on his feet, hand reaching out and blue eyes wide.

“Dean. Wait.”

The hand hung in the air between them. Cas opened and closed his fist as he struggled to say something.

“I don’t want to just be friends,” he admitted finally. He looked a little guilty, like a child who had just confessed to wanting cake for breakfast.

Dean felt his shoulders slump and his green eyes soften.

“Thank God,” he said, shooting Cas a small, relieved smile. “Christ, Cas, you—” Dean sucked in a breath, lips trembling, “You couldn’t make it easy on a guy, could you?”

“Sorry,” Castiel said softly, looking down at the floor.

His eyes flickered up to Dean’s when Dean moved closer, sliding a hand from his shoulder down to his wrist. Dean swallowed. He wanted very badly to kiss the man, but wasn’t sure if it would be welcomed in the moment. Dean felt like they were standing on a precipice, dangerously balanced at the edge, and one more step to either side would shove them over it. So though he wanted to, he didn’t. Instead he took Cas’s hand loosely in his and stared down at it, frowning and wondering where to go from here.

A hug seemed like the safest option. Dean wordlessly slipped his arms around Cas’s shoulders, drawing him into the firm line of his chest, one hand at the back of his head. He buried his nose in Cas’s hair, inhaling the fresh woodsy scent of his shampoo. He relaxed when Castiel didn’t pull away but instead pressed against him and wrapped his arms around Dean’s torso, holding him close. The embrace felt like an apology, or perhaps an admission that he had been wrong to push Dean away. Whichever it was, Dean decided to forgive him and squeezed back, pressing him closer.

They finished their drinks and danced some more, the mood lightening the longer the music worked them over. Anna disappeared at some point, possibly to continue intimacies with the man she’d met in a more private setting.

It was late when they finally decided to leave the club. Dean kept pace at Castiel’s side in silence as they walked back to the bellboy’s apartment.

Castiel’s building wasn’t far, only a few blocks from the bar. Dean followed him up the stairs when they arrived, thinking about everything that he’d said that night and everything that had happened between them. Things still felt uncertain, fragile, and Dean wasn’t sure what that meant for them. He looked up from his shoes as Cas stopped in front of a shabby, olive-green door. The paint was peeling off of it in long, crackled strips, exposing the unfinished wood underneath.

“Would you like to come in for a drink?” Castiel asked him. “I warn you, it is not the Plaza Hotel.”

Dean snorted, pushing down his uncertainty and covering it up with humor, as was his way.

“I couldn’t give two shits where you live, Cas,” Dean told him.

Cas keyed open the door and swung it wide to allow him entry. Dean stepped through, instantly regretting what he’d just said.

The place gave _tiny_ a whole new meaning. Dean was pretty sure their linen closet back at the _hotel_ was bigger.

“You live _here_?” he blurted, unable to stop himself.

Cas made a low noise of derision. “I told you it was small.”

“No, small would be an _upgrade_ ,” Dean argued, “This place is a fucking _matchbox_.” Dean glanced around the tiny space. “Dude, I could fry an egg while taking a shit. You’re going to get dysentery living here.”

Cas huffed a little, seeming offended by Dean’s comments.

“I don’t often eat in,” he said defensively, “It’s just a place to crash while I save for school.”

“Sorry,” Dean said quickly. “I didn’t mean to sound like such a pompous ass,” he apologized, “I just can’t believe a place like this is _legal_.”

“It probably isn’t,” Castiel agreed with him, “But the price is right.” He frowned and stepped inside, closing the door. Two short steps brought him to the mini-fridge under the counter. He grabbed two beers and passed one to Dean, uncapping it along the way.

“It’s very clean,” Dean said, hoping to win back some points. He took a hurried sip of beer, gulping it down along with any other stupid comments still lingering in the back of his head.

“It has to be,” Castiel replied, gesturing to the obvious. He leaned up against the kitchen counter and took a sip of his beer. Dean followed the action with his eyes, holding his breath. The place was so small, there was barely three feet between them, and maybe two and a half over to the bed. Dean very carefully kept his eyes from flickering over to it, but he could see it clearly out of his peripheral.

Close spaces certainly had their charm.

Still.

“You know, we own a few rental properties in the area,” he said. “I bet I could get you a good price if you wanted,” he offered.

“Thank you, but… I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Castiel replied stiffly.

“Why not?” Dean argued.

“Dean, we have known one another for less than a week,” Castiel pointed out, “It is too soon for grand gestures.”

“Right.”

Dean took another sip of beer. Time to change the subject.

“So, uh…what do you do for fun in your off time?” he asked. “Other than go to the opera? Doesn’t look like you have a TV.”

“I prefer listening to music.” Castiel nodded over to the small stereo sitting next to the bed. There was a stack of thickly-bound CD cases next to it.

Dean strolled over—or rather, _sidestepped_ over to the thing and picked up the one on top. “ _David et Jonathas_?” he read aloud. The name of another opera, he assumed.

“It is a story of war and the friendship between David and Jonathon,” Castiel explained, “Although some suggest it was more than that.”

“Huh,” Dean said intelligently, setting the case back down. “Who knew the opera could be so _gay_.”

He grinned at Castiel, goofy and shameless. He actually got a laugh out of Cas at that one.

“And you’re seriously going to become a shrink?” Dean asked, “Seems to me like this is your passion, Cas, not Humpty Dumpty-ing people back together again.”

“It is merely a hobby,” Castiel insisted.

“So you’ve never performed?” Dean asked.

“I sing for a congregation on Sundays,” Castiel said. “That is all.”

The bottle in Dean’s hand froze halfway to his lips.

“Can I come sometime?” he asked, “Listen to you sing, I mean?”

“...I did not think you would be interested in that sort of thing,” Castiel said after a long pause. The words were tense and guarded.

“Is that a yes?” Dean pressed.

Castiel seemed suddenly uncomfortable, and Dean could see a slight flush warming his cheeks and neck in the small space.

He gave Dean a short nod, regardless.

“Awesome,” Dean said. His lips curled into a grin around the beer bottle. “Hey,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “tomorrow’s Sunday.”

Again Castiel seemed uncomfortable, embarrassed even.

“So it is. I suppose you would like to come with me tomorrow,” he surmised.

“Hell yes,” Dean said. He tipped his head to the side, considering something. “I’ve never been to church before though. Well, not a normal mass,” he amended. He was suddenly worried about it. “Am I even allowed?” he asked, “I mean, I’m not religious or anything.”

“Everyone is welcome at church,” Castiel told him.

“That’s a relief,” Dean said. And he actually was relieved, which was strange considering he’d never given the subject of God much thought before.

“So how does it work?” Dean asked, taking a sip of beer. “The whole church thing, I mean.”

“I don’t understand the question…” Castiel said, peering at Dean through squinted eyes.

“I mean, what do I do? I just show up and…uh, what exactly?”

Castiel snorted a little into his beer.

“Ah. Now I understand,” he said, grinning to himself. “It is not difficult, Dean. You will be fine. Just follow my lead.”

“Right.” Dean took another sip of beer, searching for another topic of conversation. His eyes settled on the only decoration in the small room. “What’s that?” he blurted without thinking.

Castiel’s eyes moved to where he was pointing. There, hung up on the wall on a single nail was a canvas oil painting done in swirls of bright colors—magenta made up the majority of the piece, with smaller swaths of indigo, tangerine and blood orange, turquoise, cerulean blue and lavender. Two shapes made up the foreground; they were painted spring green with small brushstrokes of differing pastels. The painting was clearly an abstract, but its presence in the room was powerful nonetheless.

“It is called _Angels in the Belfry_ ,” Castiel explained. “I…bought it shortly after moving here.”

Dean flushed a little at the name. Angels…right. Dean peered at the painting, trying to make sense of it. It didn’t look anything like its title, and Dean wondered if perhaps it held a secret that he couldn’t see.

“I like it,” Dean decided abruptly. He gulped down a large sip of beer. “It’s uh, kinda beautiful.”

“I thought so too,” Castiel replied. He looked down at the beer in his hand and smiled lightly. “It was…an indulgence,” he admitted, “Perhaps the only decadent thing I’ve allowed myself in recent years.” He paused at the confused look Dean was shooting him and explained. “It was expensive,” he said, “But it…called to me and I could not bear to live without it.”

“Yeah,” Dean said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “I can relate.”

His comment hung in the air for a long moment. Dean just stared at the painting, taking in the sharp contrasting colors that still managed to be soft and harmonious in their fiery dance. Castiel took a long drink of his beer, attempting to hide the blush on his face behind the bottle, but Dean caught it anyway. He smiled to himself, eyes lowered, and wondered if there was any hope for them.

They finished their beer in mostly amiable silence interspersed with light conversation. Castiel asked him a little about his brother Sam and what he was like, so Dean told him.

Before he knew it the bells across the street were chiming two in the morning and it was time for him to go.

Castiel took the by-now empty bottle of beer from him and set it down on the counter behind him. Dean took a measured breath in and out and tried to judge his mood based on the thin line of his mouth.

When Cas turned back to him and looked up into his eyes, the invitation was clear.

Dean carefully scooped Castiel’s face into his hands and pressed a light, chaste kiss against his lips. He pulled back just a second later.

Castiel leaned forward a little, like he wanted more, but Dean had already made up his mind that he wasn’t giving it. He was still trying to prove to Cas that this was more than just a physical thing. Cas let out a little puff of air through his nose and relaxed into his hands. Dean dropped them away, caught Cas’s hand and gave it a little squeeze.

“Goodnight, Cas,” he said, peering into liquid blue eyes.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel whispered in the small space.

Dean turned, opened the door and let himself out.

It was a long, lonely walk back to the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A LOT of new developments since last week's post so I'm SUPER EXCITED. 
> 
> 1\. Gabriel has decided he wants to be part of this epic. I've pretty much given him free reign to do whateverthefuck he wants. (This will end well... >_>)  
> 2\. I realized the reason I can't write Sam/Jess is because I really don't like Jess, so I'll be breaking them up at some point. Leaving the pairing alone for now while I think about it more...but all that is to come, and maybe I don't want to ruin the surprise (also haven't exactly written it yet, so...yeah).  
> 3\. I've decided to pair Jo and Charlie. Eventually. There will be plot involved, and I'm pretty excited for it.  
> 4\. I decided on a last name for Cas. I'm not going with Novak because...everyone uses Novak. I chose something different...something I think suits him. I hope ya nerds feel the same way when I get to it.  
> 5\. Lastly, I've updated the rating on this fic because I finally started in on the smut chapter this week. 
> 
> For those interested, [ This is the Painting ](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/442619469633523657/) Cas has hanging in his apartment. I broke the 4th wall a little here. It was fun. ;)
> 
> As always, please comment and let me know what you think, and a HUGE thank you to everyone who has commented so far. You are awesome!! :D <3


	6. Singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tags along for ‘A Day In The Life Of Cas’ and ends up making a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Slight religious references in this chapter. Nothing that wouldn't be on the show, I think. Everything here is written to keep Castiel and Dean in character and isn't meant to be a reflection of my own beliefs/lack thereof.

* * *

Dean was awake early the next morning, buttoning up a sky-blue dress shirt and sinking into a pair of sleek, gray trousers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d dressed up on a Sunday. Probably not since his mother passed away.

He met Castiel in front of the park. The bellboy was wearing khaki dress pants and a light blue sweater over a white button-up—tucked in—and brown dress shoes. His hair was parted and combed neatly to the side. Dean greeted him with a kiss, and then they walked hand-in-hand over to the small congregation where Castiel sang.

Dean never thought in a million years that he would find himself in a church _actually_ attending a service. He’d been in churches before for weddings and funerals but that was it, and even then it wasn’t like he could count those as religious experiences. Considering that for most of them he’d been either drunk or hung over? Definitely not.

So Dean felt more than a little uncomfortable seated amongst pious old women and their husbands—mothers with their sons and daughters—all perfect role models of society, the epitome of virtue.

Castiel sat quietly next to him, following along in one of the many scripture books that were tucked into the pew in front of them. Dean had one spread open on his lap and was mumbling along beside him, shifting on the hard wooden plank under his ass and feeling more than a little antsy.

It wouldn’t be so bad if they were seated in the back near the doors, but they were smack dab in the front row, because that was where Cas needed to be so that he could get up when necessary to sing, and so that was where they had parked their behinds.

Also, Dean was pretty sure he was going to hell because he couldn’t stop thinking of all the nasty, _delicious_ things he’d love to do to Cas splayed out on the smooth, wooden bench. Or tipped back over the altar...

Yep, he was most _definitely_ going to hell for that last one.

Dean wasn’t sure he could endure another second of God’s disapproving stink-eye and was just about to feign indigestion or some other kind of ailment to get out of it when Castiel rose slowly—carefully—from his seat and stepped up to the microphone.

All thoughts of leaving fled Dean’s mind in an instant. He shifted on the seat and sat up a little taller, curiosity taking over. He listened as the organ played for a few bars and then Castiel opened his mouth and allowed his voice to drift out over the small congregation.

Dean’s brain stuttered to a halt. Cas’s voice was deep and smooth like a fine-aged whiskey, but filled with such power and light. It reverberated out over the small church and spoke of things ancient and lost to time. If angels could walk among them…Dean might actually believe that Castiel was one of them.

He relaxed against the back of the pew, closed his eyes and just…listened.

When the song ended, Castiel bowed his head and gave a quiet, “Thank you,” and sat back down next to Dean.

His eyes flickered up to meet Dean’s, deep blue pools hesitant and self-conscious as they asked silently what Dean had thought of his singing. Dean beamed at him, all thirty-two bright pearly whites in uninhibited affection. He didn’t care that they were in church or that the priest up front could see them clearly. He was knocked back by the man sitting beside him, and since he couldn’t say anything or kiss him silly he at least wanted to show it.

His hand found Cas’s silently on the seat beside him, wrapped around it, and gave it a little squeeze.

 _‘Awesome,’_ Dean mouthed at him, grinning even wider.

Castiel blushed, ducking his head. His eyes flickered up to the front of the altar where a young, sandy-haired man was reading out the gospel for that day. Dean thought for a moment their eyes met, but he couldn’t be sure.

Castiel settled back against the pew seeming a little restless, though he listened intently to the words being offered. After a few minutes he relaxed and his shoulder pressed up against Dean’s in a comfortable, intimate way.

It was awkward reading along with one hand, turning the pages and trying to keep the book open at the same time, but Dean was damned if he was letting go of Cas’s hand. When he noticed Cas having similar trouble, he grabbed the book from him, closed it, and then set his between them, scooting a little closer to make things easier. Cas’s eyes flickered up briefly to his, then reached out to take the opposite edge of the book, getting the idea. The mass continued along uninterrupted, oblivious of the small Garden of Eden blooming in the front pew.

Castiel sang four more songs before the end of the mass, and each time Dean was transported to a different plane of reality listening to him sing, his deep voice lilting over the notes like honey dripping over the edge of a spoon. Amber-sweet and a balm for the soul—that was Castiel.

Dean thought maybe he could get behind the whole God concept with his own personal angel leading the way.

The mass ended with one last song, and this time Castiel didn’t step down from the front but stayed standing up on his little step by the microphone. Dean wondered why, but soon realized it was to offer him some measure of protection against the throng of adoring fans who rushed up to shake his hand and pour their praise over him.

Castiel met each old lady, each mother, father, and child with a soft, genuine smile and humble word of thanks. Dean hung back, feeling again out of place and out of his _league_ in a way he hadn’t before.

He honestly didn’t know what the hell Cas saw in him, couldn’t understand why he’d agreed to be more than ‘just friends’ and go out with him.

Dean wasn’t sure this counted as a date, though. Church? Holding hands in secret under the watchful eyes of God? No, definitely not to be classified as a date.

Finally Castiel detached himself from his doting group of fans, stepped down from the front of the church, and made his way over to Dean.

He smiled warmly at Dean as he stopped at his side.

“So,” Castiel asked, “How was your first experience in church?”

“Fine,” Dean replied, “A little awkward but I guess that’s cuz I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he added. He drew a breath, placing a hand on Cas’s arm. “Cas, you have an amazing voice,” he said.

Cas blushed a little and looked down at his feet.

“Ah…” For once the man seemed at a loss for words. “Th-thank you.”

“I mean it,” Dean pressed. “Seriously, man, I don’t think you should give up on your dream just yet.”

“I’ve told you, Dean—”

“I know, I know,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “You have to be _practical_. I get it.” He paused. “But what if you didn’t? Cas, what then?”

“What are you proposing, Dean?” Castiel asked tentatively.

“Nothing,” Dean said quickly. What _was_ he offering to do? He started walking, moving away from Castiel before the man could catch the embarrassing look on his face. “Forget I said anything.”

“Dean.” Cas hurried to keep step with him, Dean’s long stride pulling away across the maroon-carpeted floor. “ _Dean_.”

Dean allowed him to catch up, but abruptly changed the subject.

“I’m surprised you still come here after…everything that you told me,” Dean said.

“Why? Because of my sexual orientation?” Castiel questioned. He gave a little huff of annoyance. “Not everyone believes that homosexuality is a sin. I prefer to believe in a loving God, one who has made me in His own image,” Castiel said. “If He had wanted me to fall in love with a woman, then He would have made me straight.”

Dean let out a short little laugh.

“I think I like that reasoning,” he said.

They reached the doors to the church. Dean was about to skip down the stone steps in front when Castiel caught his arm and tugged him back toward the entrance.

“Dean, there is someone I should like you to meet,” Castiel said.

Cas turned to the young man by his side—the same man who had led the mass earlier. He was dressed in long white robes and seemed to be around the same age as Castiel, with light, sandy-blond hair and clear, grey-blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, mouth thin and wide with dimples that appeared on either side when he smiled. His face was smooth and kind, made younger by the lack of worry lines on it that Dean supposed was a result of his faith. There was a purple scarf draped around his shoulders that was almost as long as his robes. Dean was pretty sure they didn’t call that a scarf, but he didn’t know the correct term for it. Habit? Nah, that was the thing nuns wore. Dean drew a nervous breath as Castiel opened his mouth to introduce him.

“Dean, this is Reverend Paul. Paul is…well, more than a friend. Perhaps ‘spiritual mentor’ is more the right word. Paul, this is Dean Winchester.”

“How d’ya do,” Dean greeted, gulping nervously. He’d never talked to a reverend before. He remembered his manners at the last second and stuck out his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Dean Winchester,” Reverend Paul said warmly, taking his hand in both of his. “Thank you for attending my mass this morning.” His bright gray-blue eyes shifted briefly to Castiel, then back to Dean. “Am I correct in assuming that this is your first time in church?” he asked.

“Uh. Yeah.” Dean swallowed again. “But I, uh, I’m a big fan of the man upstairs,” he said quickly, “Or, I mean—w-well, maybe not exactly a _fan_ , but—”

Dean’s eyes tore to Castiel, pleading to be saved. The reverend laughed, tilting back his head in joyful abandon. Huh. Dean hadn’t thought priests could laugh like that.

“You do not need to impress upon me your piety, Dean,” Reverend Paul assured him, “I am merely a messenger of God. It is He who you need to watch out for.” The young reverend raised a thin eyebrow, and in the expression Dean felt even more nervous.

“Right. Well, you know, I—I-I’m not really—I’m kinda new at this,” he babbled. He gulped down hard. “Aww, shi—shoot,” he said. He caught the curse just in time. He winced, rubbing at the back of his head. “Sorry.”

“It is quite alright,” Paul said. “I believe I’ve said that one before myself. Typically when counting out the offerings at the end of the day.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize…I threw in what I had, but if I knew I would’ve—” Dean broke off, looking to Castiel again, whose eyes were bright yet shy.

“Dean, your offering was more than generous,” Castiel said quietly, looking down at the stone under his feet.

“Yeah?” Dean said, “I dunno, I guess I wanted to do more.” He paused, gulping down his nerves. “Uh, next time,” he said, looking back at the reverend, “I’ll make sure I remember.”

He flushed as he realized he’d just implied there would _be_ a next time, but neither Cas nor the Reverend commented on it. Instead Reverend Paul presented him with a bright, toothy grin.

“Thank you, that would be much appreciated,” he said. He turned to Cas. “Castiel, should I expect you today at the kitchen?” His eyes trailed to Dean, who stood blinking between them.

“I will be there,” Castiel promised. He took Paul’s offered hand in his own, then leaned in to give the man a small embrace. There was a warm smile on his face as he pulled back. “I will see you later,” he said.

Cas touched Dean lightly on the arm, and together they made their way down the steps of the little church and out into the street.

“What’s happening later?” Dean asked. A cold knot of jealousy twisted a little in his gut, though he tried his best to hide it. Castiel and the reverend were clearly very close, and for whatever reason that annoyed him.

Perhaps because he hadn’t failed to notice how handsome the reverend was—all silky sandy hair and soft gray-blue eyes and bright, white teeth.

“I volunteer Sunday afternoons at a soup kitchen nearby,” Castiel said, interrupting Dean’s less-than savory thoughts. His blue eyes flickered up to Dean’s bright, green ones. He hesitated before asking, “Would you care to join me?”

“Uh,” Dean said, blinking at him. “Uh, sure.” He drew a breath. “But, uh, what do I do? I’ve never actually helped out at anyplace like that before,” he admitted.

“The requirements are simple,” Castiel explained to him, “As long as you have the intention to offer assistance, that is all that is needed.” He smiled up at Dean. “You do know how to wash a dish, I hope?”

Dean bristled at that.

“Course I do!” he snapped. “What’ya think I am, some kind of—” he broke off before he could finish that sentence, because it occurred to him that Castiel probably _did_ in fact consider him a spoiled rich kid who had never lifted a finger to do anything himself. He huffed a little. “Listen, something you need to know about me. I don’t really give a shit that my family is rich. Yeah, the money is nice and all, but…I don’t let it get to me like others do. It’s just an ends to a means. I’m perfectly happy living in a little cottage in the woods cooking my own dinner over a wood stove as I am in some stuffy mansion with a butler who’s entire family was raised to be butlers.”

Castiel snorted at that last bit.

“Is that so?” he inquired, teasing.

“Well, no,” Dean told him. He passed a hand along the back of his neck, sheepish. “Truth is, that kind of blatant display of wealth always made me uneasy. My dad’s kinda the same way. We have a house back in California. Nothing too big, but it’s comfortable. And we still own the farmhouse where we grew up.”

“And yet you are staying at The Plaza,” Castiel pointed out, “in one of their largest suites.”

“Hey, nobody likes hotel living,” Dean countered. “It’s the one thing my dad and I agree on. Too many nights spent in crappy motel rooms as a kid.” He paused, explaining, “We weren’t always rich.”

“I see,” Castiel replied carefully, “I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Yeah, well, now you know,” Dean said, looking away. Talk of his roots always made him uneasy for some reason.

Castiel was silent as they walked side by side down the street. They were headed back to Cas’s apartment, presumably for a change of clothes.

“How _did_ your family acquire its wealth?” he inquired after a minute.

Dean let out a breath.

“Slowly, over time,” he answered, “Started with my dad and his friend Bobby. He’s a contractor. Dad used to work for him, an electrician by trade. Then he met my mom and he wanted more, so him and Bobby banded together and bought a motel.” Dean wrinkled his nose. “Filthy thing. Falling apart. They renovated it like crazy and then sold the bitch for a mint.” He looked down at Castiel and grinned. “And the rest is history. They traveled all over the country doing the same thing. They kept some of the motels for the steady income, but mostly they just bought up condemned, dying businesses and flipped ‘em for a profit. It was only in the last ten years or so that Dad’s been focusing more on rental properties and other commercial spaces.”

Dean stopped in his account to peer at Cas. “I thought you would’ve known all that. It’s not exactly a secret. You can read the whole thing on Wikipedia.”

Castiel shook his head. “I am not the type to look up that sort of information,” he explained, “I prefer to ask in person.”

“’Preciate that,” Dean said, grinning at him, “Can’t tell you how refreshing it is not to have someone know my whole backstory right off the bat.” He paused. “But… you _do_ read the tabloids.”

“Yes,” Castiel admitted. He looked away, and Dean could swear there was a slight blush to his cheeks.

They arrived at Cas’s apartment a few minutes later. Dean bounded up the stairs, feeling energized for some unknown reason. Cas followed slowly, seeming amused by his enthusiasm.

“You are like a small child,” he said. The tone in his voice was endearing.

“Guess I’m excited,” Dean said, grinning at him. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Should be fun.”

Castiel’s eyebrows raised, as though it were an odd thing to say about volunteer work and he seemed impressed. He said nothing, though, and merely unlocked the door. They went in, and Castiel made a beeline for the closet. Dean took a seat at the small kitchen table opposite the bed.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything that will fit you,” Castiel apologized as he slipped his sweater over his head.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Dean said, eyes dragging at Castiel’s biceps as the soft polyester caught on his shirt. “I’m not afraid of getting a little dirty.” He grinned wickedly. “Besides, I can always just get you to do my laundry for me at the hotel.”

Castiel stopped with the sweater halfway off his arms. “I am not a housekeeper, Dean,” he said.

Dean just grinned at him.

“I dunno, I think you’d look good in a little black dress, frilly little apron with some white lace and a dainty little duster—” Dean yelped as Cas chucked a shoe at him. It hit him in the stomach and he caught it with a cackle of laughter.

“ _Dean_! Quit imagining me in a _French maid’s outfit!_ ” Castiel blurted, face beet red. He raised his other shoe above his head and made to throw that one too.

“Hey, hey! I’m just kidding!” Dean said, holding up his hands and then doubling over in laughter. “God, Cas, lighten up!”

Castiel took a deep breath and slowly lowered the shoe.

“You are a terrible flirt,” he said. Dean supposed he meant to say it as an insult, but it came out sounding rather like the opposite.

“You love it,” Dean said, flashing him an appropriately flirty grin. “Hey, so should we get going or what? Don’t want you to be late.”

“Yes, alright. Give me two minutes to get changed.”

Castiel looked pointedly to the door. Dean huffed a little, rolled his eyes, and then went to wait out in the hall.

* * *

They arrived at the soup kitchen with plenty of time to spare before they opened to the public. Reverend Paul greeted them as they arrived, pleased to see that Dean had tagged along. There was a brief organizational meeting before the doors opened to assign tasks and introduce any new faces. Dean was soon lost in a pool of names. When it was his turn to introduce himself, he gulped.

“Uh, yeah, so I’m Dean,” he said, raising a hand. “Hi. Uh…” He glanced to Cas, who nodded encouragingly. “It’s my first time volunteering so, uh, go easy on me, alright? Thanks.” He finished with his famous Winchester smile and hoped it would be enough to win them over.

When the meeting ended, Castiel led him over to the kitchen manager—a large, surly older woman who assigned him as a line runner.

Dean spent the next hour dashing between the back kitchen and the buffet line like a chicken with its head cut off, draped in some frilly pink apron one of the old ladies had tossed to him (possibly the universe getting back at him for the whole French Maid thing). His job was to carry the long metal trays filled with grub back and forth to the food line whenever things got low. The old ladies glared at him when he was too slow, or when he slopped some over the side of the tub, or bumped into them by accident. They chided him with slaps to the arm and sharp clicks of their tongues. It was crazy, but Dean kind of loved it—loved the exhilaration of rushing to and fro, knowing all his hard work was going toward feeding the line of hungry faces trailing out the door. Some ragged, some tired, some dirty, but all of them smiling as they accepted their trays of food—grateful, _happy_.

It blew Dean’s mind, he just couldn’t believe it. They were all homeless—most of them probably didn’t know where their next meal was coming from and some of them could die as soon as tomorrow judging by their haggard appearance, but they all seemed at peace with it.

Dean’s heart swelled for them. He wished he could do more.

Reverend Paul was providing a different kind of assistance, going around to the kitchen’s patrons and speaking with them, making sure they knew about all the resources available to them but mostly just sitting down with them to listen—some came to confess and have their sins absolved, others needed a sympathetic ear to hear their story, and some came seeking advice—whatever their needs, the Reverend did his best to give it to them.

Castiel was a bright light at the end of the buffet line, pouring out a modest bowl of minestrone soup to each patron who stepped up to him. Each bowl was passed over with a kind smile and warm, azure-blue eyes. With each one he handed off Dean could feel his chest puff up in pride, until it felt as though he might explode with it. Dean could see why he and Paul were friends and felt his previous jealousy drain away.

Suddenly there was a sharp click of a tongue and a smack to his arm. Dean turned to see one of the kitchen ladies scowling at him. Dean thought her name might have been Barb, but honestly they all kind of blended together.

“Oy, sweet cheeks, quit daydreaming! I need potatoes, flank steak, and another pan of broccoli. Come on, light some fire under that pretty ass of yours!”

“Right, sorry!” Dean said. He muttered under his breath as he turned away. “ _Sweet cheeks?_ ”

Dean rushed off, head swirling as he tried to remember everything she had said as he reached the back kitchen.

Things might have gone smoother if Dean wasn’t taking every opportunity to be near Cas—one of the further warming ovens was directly behind him in the kitchen, and Dean made it a point to use that one instead of those closer to the main buffet line. His efforts awarded him small brushes up against the man and a couple well-placed pats to his behind when he was sure no one else was looking. Castiel blushed each time and once nearly dropped a bowl of soup in surprise, but _damn_ was it worth it.

He’d just leaned over Castiel’s shoulder to check—for the tenth time that hour—whether he needed a refill on his soup—lips tantalizingly close to his neck and hand covertly placed (or so he believed) when he heard a shout.

“Hey lover boy!”

Castiel jumped, fumbling the empty bowl in his hand as Dean froze with his hand on the proverbial cookie jar. He jerked it away as though he’d been burned.

“I need POTATOES not BUNS! Now go change your gloves!” Barb yelled at him.

Dean turned bright red and gulped. He shot Cas an apologetic look before doing as she said.

“Yes Ma’am!”

After another hour of screwing up on the line, Barb finally shoved him toward the back of the kitchen to help with the dishes.

Dean walked back there feeling the relief at not having to dash around the kitchen with hot trays any longer while getting glared at by crotchety old women. He swapped the pink frilly apron for a long, green rubber one (also grateful for that), and slipped on a pair of green dish gloves to match. He poked his head into the small kitchen extension where the dishwashing station and commercial dishwasher was kept.

There was a girl in the room already with headphones jammed into her ears. She was bobbing her head in time to the music and humming off-key—bright strands of red hair falling into her face as she worked. Dean saw a flash of purple emerge from the sink full of suds before plunging down again with what he assumed was a sponge in hand.

“Uh,” Dean said, attempting to catch the girl’s attention by waving a hand in front of her face. “Hey. Hello?” The girl’s head jerked up, startled so badly her purple-gloved hands flew out of the sink, bringing a wave of sudsy water with her.

“ _Ahh!_ ” she squealed. Her blue eyes were wide in alarm before she realized Dean was only there to help and that she had sprayed him with water. “Sorry! _Sorry!_ ” she apologized, loudly—the music blaring in her ears was a muffled roar through her earphones. The girl slipped off a glove and tugged them out of her ears.

Dean blinked slowly and drew a hand over his face, attempting to wipe off the glob of soap suds that dripped down from his forehead. He kept that eye closed and glared at the girl with the other. He was about to bite out a stinging remark when she tossed him a towel. Dean cleaned off his face and by the time he did—the whole time of which the girl looked at him apologetically—he decided maybe she didn’t deserve it.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Dean said, handing her back the towel, “Barb sent me back here to help out with…” He drew his hand out in a sweep, indicating the stack of dirty dishes yet to be cleaned. “…this whole mess.”

The girl laughed, like she knew something he didn’t.

“Did she yell at you for being too slow?” she asked, smiling up at Dean, “Or did you drop something?”

“Uh,” Dean said. He smiled, instantly liking this girl. “Yeah, pretty much. Bunch of old bats out there. Absolutely insane.”

“I spilled a whole tub of soup on my first day,” the girl confessed. She stuck out a soapy, gloved hand. “I’m Charlie.”

Dean grinned and held his out, heard the squelch of rubber-against-rubber as he took her hand and gave it a good, strong shake.

“Dean. And yeah, first time here.”

Charlie dropped his hand and grinned again—she had a strong grip, that kid. Dean couldn’t help feeling a little impressed.

“So, this is where they stick the muggles,” she said, indicating the small dishwashing room, “but honestly? I dig it. I get to rock out back here and nobody gives me any shit.” Her sweet smile grew a little wicked, and Dean laughed.

“So what do I do?” Dean asked.

Charlie grinned at him.

“You wash, I’ll rinse,” she said. She tucked her earbuds back into her ears, slipped her glove back on, and they got to it.

After about five minutes of scrubbing, Dean nudged her with his elbow.

“What are you listening to!?” he yelled over the roar of music in her ear.

Charlie tugged out an earbud and offered it to him. Dean gave a half-shrug and took it, shoving it in his own ear. He bobbed his head along with the music—some kind of rock band that sure as hell wasn’t in English—and continued working.

After that, the time flew by.

Before he knew it, the large stack of dishes to his left was finished and to Charlie’s right was a stack of clean ones. They reluctantly split the earphones and Dean helped her stack them in the commercial drier to be sanitized and then put away.

Castiel arrived in the small room just as they were sweeping and mopping up the floor. Charlie had her music playing through her phone by then. It rested on the counter as they danced around the room with their mop and broom, bobbing to the music—which was in Japanese, Charlie informed him when he asked.

Dean looked up as the quiet bellboy stepped into the room, green eyes crinkling to match the smile already on his face.

“Cas! Hey, you’re just in time. We’re almost finished.” Dean looked back to Charlie, who nodded.

“Dean. I apologize for—I didn’t mean for the others to stick you back here,” Castiel said, brow pitched together.

“Oh, but it’s perfectly okay to stick _me_ back here?” Charlie quipped. She stopped and leaned on her broom, pinning Cas with a narrow-eyed glare.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel apologized quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way…”

“Cas, this is Charlie,” Dean supplied, sweeping his hand in a gesture of introduction. “Charlie, meet Cas. He’s cool, I swear. He’s a…muggle, like us.”

Dean grinned at Cas, noting the confused squint that quickly overtook his face. Charlie gave a little laugh.

“Hey, club’s full, but if Dean here says you’re cool…” She narrowed her eyes at Dean, evaluating. He shrugged, looking away with a smile and a light blush. Charlie turned back to Cas. “Guess you’re alright.”

“Um. Thank you,” Castiel replied awkwardly, shifting on his feet. “I’ve seen you here before, I believe.”

“Yup, I’m here every week,” Charlie replied. She squinted at him again. “Now I remember you. You’re the dopey soup guy.”

“D-dopey..?”

Dean barked out in laughter, covering his mouth with a hand as he tried to keep the rest of his hilarity under wraps.

“Uh, yeah, Cas, you were grinning like a fucking flower child the whole time I was up front,” Dean said, laughing as he said it. He couldn’t help it. Charlie laughed too.

Castiel seemed a little uncomfortable being made fun of like that, so Dean stepped forward, slipped his arms around his waist and pulled him into a little kiss.

“Relax, it’s a compliment,” he said. “You were friggin’ adorable out there.”

“I—th-thank you, Dean,” Cas replied, blushing.

Dean hummed and stepped back. Charlie was grinning at them, the tip of the broom poking into her cheek as he leaned on the handle. She gave a wistful little sigh.

“Sorry,” she said, straightening when she realized she’d been caught gawking. “Bit of a sap for a good love story, over here. Don’t mind me.”

“So,” Dean said, turning back to Cas, “You ready to roll out of here?”

“Oh. No, that wasn’t why I came back here,” Castiel said. He nodded to Charlie. “Are you two about finished?”

“Yep, give us two minutes.”

Castiel helped them tidy up the rest of the small space. When it was finally done, Dean tugged off his apron and mopped his brow with the soiled fabric of his sleeve, letting out a long, relieved sigh. He was bone-tired—arm muscles throbbing, back aching, and _fucking_ starving, but he felt…good. At peace. Kinda like all those faces he saw today.

Cas was suddenly at Dean’s side, pulling at his elbow and leading him back through the kitchen to the main dining room. Charlie straggled behind them, humming under her breath. When Cas started steering him toward one of the tables, Dean stopped and pulled out of his grasp.

“What the—?”

Cas took hold of his elbow again, tugging at it. “Come,” Castiel said, indicating the table where they were headed. “You’ve earned it.”

The entire staff was already seated in the dining room, waiting patiently for everyone to arrive before they started to eat.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, I couldn’t!” Dean protested, panicking. He recoiled back from Castiel’s grip, jerking his arm away and stepping back. “No, Cas, I can’t. The h—other people need that food. No.”

Castiel stepped up to him and took Dean’s hands in his own, a gentle look on his face.

“The food is already on the table, Dean,” he pointed out, “And the kitchen’s doors are closed. Everyone else has had their fill. There is no one here left wanting.” He smiled gently. “You must be hungry. Come and join me for a meal at God’s table.”

Well shit, when he put it like _that_ … it almost sounded like if Dean refused he’d be sticking a big middle finger to the man upstairs, and he really didn’t want that. He kinda wanted to be on God’s good side, for Cas’s sake. He was pretty sure that was required in order for this whole dating thing to work out between them.

He felt a hand clap him on the shoulder from behind. Charlie. She grinned up at him.

“Come on, Dean,” she said, “Come eat with us nerds.”

Dean laughed a little and then slowly nodded, eyes flickering back to Cas. He allowed Castiel to grip his hand and pull him into the dining room.

They sat at the end of the table, Charlie sinking down next to Dean. Cas didn’t drop his hand though—he held it even from across the table—and Dean started to blush, to feel a little awkward by the open display of affection until Charlie nudged his shoulder and offered him her hand.

Dean looked up at the table and realized what was happening. He grabbed Charlie’s hand quickly and hoped his palm wasn’t too sweaty. At the head of the table, Reverend Paul raised the hands of the two volunteers sitting next to him and bowed his head.

“We thank the Lord our God for this meal…”

Dean listened politely as the Reverend said Grace, letting the words fall on his ears in much the same way he had in church earlier. They didn’t mean much to him, but he mumbled a small _‘Amen_ ’ at the end nonetheless.

They ate in a blend of content chewing noises and slurps of soup. Dean had his forearm propping him up on the table as he leaned over his plate, feeling the exhaustion of the day sink into his bones. The meal heartened him, though, and so did Castiel’s smiling face sitting opposite him. Charlie chattered next to him, telling him all about some show she’d just finished watching that Dean could _not_ wrap his head around. Cowboys…on a spaceship? He must have heard that wrong.

He grinned at Castiel and winked. He’d made a friend. Yeah, okay, she was a little weird, but still…good people. Dean’s grin grew—not for Cas, but for himself—and he looked down into his plate of food.

This city was beginning to feel like a home to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm super excited to introduce Charlie into this fic! Whoo~ 
> 
> For those who are curious, the band Charlie is listening to is WANIMA. ;)
> 
> Please take a moment to comment and let me know what you think! :)


	7. Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zachariah makes a move and Dean reacts in a way that could put both their futures in jeopardy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: mention of sexual harassment/blackmail and violent threats in this chapter.**

* * *

It was late when John Winchester finally returned from LA on Sunday. From his texts it seemed the deal that had gone south had hit problems at every turn and it had taken the better part of the weekend to straighten everything out. Dean got a text past one in the morning saying he was on his way from the airport.

As the minutes ticked down to his arrival, Dean paced the inside of their room, going over his pitch for the New York office and making sure he had the numbers down. John would want to know those.

At nearly two, he finally heard the electronic lock on the door whine undone. His father’s haggard face appeared in the light of the open doorway. The older man’s eyes were lined with fatigue and his skin was paler than usual, as though he’d been battling with corporate backstabbers rather than negotiating with them. It had Dean reconsidering whether to bring this up now or not. But no, Dean thought, steeling himself. He needed to give Pamela an answer tomorrow about the loft, and the longer he stayed at the hotel, the longer there was the chance of Uriel finding out that him and Cas were still associating on more than just a professional level.

No, the sooner he did this, the better.

“Rough flight?” Dean greeted.

John grunted and dropped his bag in the middle of the foyer. It was far too late for the hotel’s services to be around to help with his suitcase, and Dean couldn’t help but be grateful that it had been Cas’s day off besides. Talk about an awkward elevator ride. John shuffled through into the living room and sat down heavily on the sofa, Dean following a few steps behind him. The older man rubbed at his eyes, sighing as the weariness settled deeper into his bones.

Dean poured his father a drink from the bar and held it out to him. Four generous fingers of whiskey sloshed in the fine crystal as his father took it and downed two of them in one large swig.

“Thanks,” John said, lowering the glass.

Dean nodded. He took his own drink over to the couch and sat down with it, turning the glass around in his fingers.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Dean began, jumping right into it, “The company’s in a good place right now, and with the market up we stand to gain substantially—”

John heaved a sigh and Dean broke off, losing his momentum.

“Can’t it wait, son?” the older man asked, looking over at him. “I’d rather put a hole in my head than talk business right about now.” His voice held an edge of humor but it was rough with exhaustion. Dean looked into eyes shadowed by dark circles.

“Uh…yeah, no. Sure,” he struggled. He tried to hide the disappointment he could feel tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I just …I’ve been thinking about the future, that’s all. About my role in the company and wh…w-what I want and stuff,” he paraphrased.

John clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Good,” he said. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. How was your weekend?”

Dean felt his stomach do a little flop. So much had happened since his father left for LA. He kept his face carefully blank.

“Oh you know,” he lied, quirking his lips, “Uneventful.”

John laughed as Dean knew he would—knew he would take the answer with a grain of salt, the ‘same old Dean’ shenanigans he was so well known for.

“Somehow I doubt that,” John replied. 

Dean just shrugged and looked away, hoping the flush to his cheeks wasn’t visible, or if it was that his father was too tired to notice. If his dad knew the truth… hell, the man would probably faint. Dean was almost tempted to tell him he’d been to church today just to see the look on his face.

John downed the rest of his drink and set the empty glass down on the coffee table.

“It’s good to hear you’ve been thinking about your future,” he said, “I’m impressed, Dean. I really am.” The older man placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “I’m proud of you. I want you know that,” John continued. “You’re doing well.”

“Heh, thanks…” Dean said, dipping his head. He tried to keep the smile from crawling off his face and lost pretty bad. He’d honestly never heard his dad say he was _proud_ of him before. He wondered if it was the late hour or the alcohol causing his dad to get so sentimental…and if he really meant it. He wasn’t usually this generous with his praises.

“I can’t wait to hear all about it,” John was saying, “Tomorrow, though. For now, I’m calling it a night.” He rose from the couch with one last pat to Dean’s shoulder and shuffled off to his room.

Dean stared down into the glass. It was a good start, he told himself. Better than good. His father was primed for the big pitch. He could do this.

He bit his bottom lip, worrying the tender flesh between his teeth. What if he said no, that Dean wasn’t ready for something that big? What if John refused to let him stay behind in New York?

He closed his eyes. A pair of star-bright blue eyes appeared behind the closed lids, belonging to a warm, smiling face. Castiel, when they had parted ways outside the hotel earlier, had slipped his hands behind his neck and held him close as Dean kissed him goodbye. His fingertips at Dean’s nape had sent a zing of breathless desire shooting down his spine. It had pooled warm in his navel and sent waves of heat outward to his fingertips. He had pulled back in a heady stupor, staring down into eyes that burned like a comet, and had felt his heart flutter pleasantly.

Dean wasn’t sure what he would do if his father said no, but he knew there was no going back. He was in too deep to turn around now. Even if his father cut him off and he had to find some shoebox apartment in the city until he found a decent job, Dean would do it. He’d fight to stay here, if that’s what it took.

With that thought rolling around in his head, Dean finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Dean was just coming out of the gym the next morning after a rigorous workout when he caught a glimpse of a familiar red jacket poking out from around the corner. He grinned and jogged down the hallway to say hi and maybe sneak a good morning kiss. When the hallway opened up and revealed another familiar face, Dean slowed to a stop.

Zachariah had Cas cornered in the short corridor that led to the banquet hall and was saying something to the bellboy. Castiel stood stiff as a board, his face like a porcelain mask. From his body language alone, Dean could smell trouble. Zach said something that had Cas’s eyes darting in alarm to Zach’s cool, manipulating gaze. The older man raised a hand to Castiel’s shoulder. His thumb toyed with the black thread of Cas’s jacket. He leaned in to Castiel’s ear and said something else. The only thing Dean could see from where he was standing was the smug grin on Zach’s face and the widening of Castiel’s eyes.

Dean was just about to surge forward and shove the prick aside when Zach moved away, a cool smile on his face like he had just placed the pieces on the chest board for a winning gambit.

Well, not if Dean had anything to do with it.

He caught up to Cas just as the bellboy was turning down the hallway.

“Cas?” Dean called, reaching out and grabbing him by the arm.

Castiel actually flinched away from him, and Dean dropped his arm as though it were on fire. Cas’s blue eyes looked up at Dean, wide and unsettled.

Dean turned back to glance at Zachariah, who was almost out of sight.

“What the hell did _he_ want?” Dean demanded.

It was clear Castiel was quite shaken from whatever Zach had said, but his poker face went up the moment he saw Dean. Guarding against something. The man took a controlled breath and hesitated a second before answering.

“It’s nothing,” Castiel said. He attempted to shrug Dean off and move around him, but Dean stepped into his line of sight and blocked him.

“It’s not nothing,” he said harshly. Then, more gently, “What did Zach say to you?”

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be _good_. Not to elicit such a strong reaction from the man.

Castiel hesitated again before explaining.

“He put the pieces together,” Castiel said, tugging at the hem of his jacket. His eyes flickered up to Dean as he continued. “He must have overheard us—or perhaps saw us outside the hotel together—” He broke off, looked away and drew a shaky breath. “He caught me off guard. Said if I didn’t—if I don’t do as he says—”

Castiel broke off suddenly and looked at the floor, an ashamed look on his face. He rang his hands together.

“He threatened to tell Uriel we—”

Castiel’s breathing caught and he drew in a sharp inhale, attempting to regain control and explain what happened. When Castiel did finally speak again, his voice had dropped to barely above a whisper.

“I am scared, Dean,” Castiel said, looking up at him. His big blue eyes seemed so lost in that moment. “Uriel will know I disobeyed him. I will lose my job.”

Something in Dean broke then, just a little. Dean pulled Castiel into the circle of his arms, one hand at the back of his head, hugging it to his.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, I got you,” he said. He held Castiel tighter to his chest. “You hear me, Cas? I _got_ you. I’m not gonna let that happen,” Dean promised.

Castiel’s voice was muffled against his shoulder.

“Dean, this is not something you can fix,” Castiel said.

“The hell it isn’t,” Dean argued. He hugged Cas’s head to his, raised his eyes skyward and felt the man’s arms wrap hesitantly around his waist—allowing him in. “You gotta trust me, Cas,” Dean murmured into his ear, “I’ll take care of it.”

To do that, though, Dean needed to know what had happened. He pulled back and tried again to get the rest of the story.

“What exactly did Zachariah say?” Dean asked. He gripped Castiel by the shoulders as he peered into shadowed blue eyes.

This time Castiel only hesitated a little before answering him.

“That I am to go to his room later…” —here Cas winced and looked away, ashamed of the words coming out of his mouth— “and if I do not, he will tell Uriel about us.”

Dean’s face hardened instantly.

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

He let go of Cas and stormed off in the direction he saw Zach leaving before.

“Dean!” Castiel called after him, but Dean was so hyper-focused on his target he barely even heard. “ _Dean!_ ”

He found Zachariah in the lobby, schmoozing by the coffee station.

Dean set his jaw and strode up to him. Zach turned and saw him coming, a cup of freshly poured, steaming hot coffee in his hand. He started to say something, a taunting grin spread out across his fat, round face.

Dean didn’t break stride, didn’t even let the man get one word out before drawing back his fist and smashing it into Zachariah’s face.

The cup in Zachariah’s hand went flying, steaming hot coffee spraying everywhere as Zach was hurtled backward from the force of the punch, head twisting and spittle spurting from his slackened jaw. Throughout the lobby, there was a chorus of startled gasps. Zach landed hard on the marble floor, blood dripping from his open mouth as he caught himself on his hands and attempted to push himself up.

Dean didn’t give him a moment to recover, just grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around and drove another fist into the side of his face.

Zach crashed to the floor a second time, coughing as blood trickled down his upper cheek. Dean had hit him hard enough to split skin.

He grabbed Zach by the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling the man halfway to his feet as he shoved their faces together close enough for Dean to feel the man’s sweaty brow against his and smell the overwhelming stink of him—sweat, blood, and fear.

“Touch him again and I will fucking kill you,” Dean growled, teeth clenched painfully together.

He felt hands at his back, grabbing at his arms, pulling him off of the dirty businessman. Someone helped Zach to his feet—the manager, Uriel, Dean realized. He turned, and suddenly Castiel’s face was right there, blue eyes wide in shock. Anna was there too, a light hand on the manager’s arm as she spoke quietly to him, face calm and collected. Uriel nodded, aloof and authoritative, and Dean wasn’t sure why but that pissed him off.

Zach spat a wad of half-congealed blood onto the polished marble floor.

“I’m pressing charges,” he said curtly to the manager, whose attention was suddenly present and looming.

Dean swear he saw red for a moment. He tore loose from Castiel’s grip and rushed at Zachariah again. Only Cas’s hands at his wrist and loud shout of _“Dean!”_ kept him from punching the man again.

“You try anything, Zach, I swear to _God_ they will never find the body,” Dean growled, right up in his face.

“That’s a serious threat, Dean. I could have you arrested,” Zach said coolly, confident now that the manager was present.

“Yeah? Try it and I’ll sue for sexual harassment,” Dean threatened, “I don’t think the police will be too forgiving when they find out you’ve been making passes at me since I was _fifteen_.” Dean’s voice shook with anger. He glared at Zachariah, his eyes hard like jade stone. “How about it, Zach? What do you think my dad will do to you when he finds out about your taste for little Winchester boys?”

Zach actually turned pale at that comment and seemed alarmed for the first time.

“Don’t fuck with me, Zachariah,” Dean said, laying on the threats and jabbing a finger in his face, “You’ll lose.”

Zach shook himself a little, seeming to pull himself together. He turned back to the manager. “I want him thrown out of here,” Zachariah said.

“I think you are the one who should leave,” Uriel said, voice cold yet diplomatic, “Anna tells me you threatened one of my employees.” The man peered at Zach, his face hard as the marble under his shiny black shoes. “I do not tolerate such behavior in my hotel. I will have security assist you as you collect your belongings and then they will escort you out of the building. You are no longer welcome in this establishment,” Uriel told him.

Zachariah stared at the man in shock, as if he were unable to believe that the manager would take the word of some renegade kid and a couple of hotel employees over his. Dean felt a satisfied smirk slide over his face. With some of the blood drained from his head and the adrenaline wearing off, Dean shook himself loose from Castiel’s grip and went in for the final blow.

“I don’t think you’re someone we want associated with the Winchester name either,” Dean said. If he had been wearing a suit rather than sweaty work-out clothes, he would have straightened his tie just to piss the guy off. “It’s over, Zach. I’ll be taking action on our end to dissolve any open contracts effective immediately.” The tone of his voice was professional but biting and layered with disdain.

He could see the words hit Zach like buckshot. The man blinked, fat face going blank in shock. Uriel, the manager, handed him off to security. They led Zach away, whose head was turned back to stare at Dean, mouth gaping open.

Dean just smirked at him and enjoyed the show.

“Can’t tell you how often I’ve dreamed of doing that,” Dean said, a satisfied smirk spread easily across his face. It dropped abruptly as he turned to the manager. “And you, _Chuckles_ ,” he said, jabbing a finger under Uriel’s nose, “Who I date is none of your fucking business. If it wasn’t for you none of this would have happened and if you fire Cas over it I swear to God I will drag your hotel’s _precious_ image down to its _fucking_ foundations.”

Uriel cleared his throat and looked a little uncomfortable.

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Winchester,” the man assured him. He lowered the finger Dean had pointed in his face. “Just…keep your relations with my employee away from the public eye. And the tabloids.” Uriel glanced at Castiel, who blinked twice in surprise. “Excuse me, I have an eviction to oversee.” He turned to the redhead at his side. “Anna, have maintenance clean up this mess.” He gestured to the blood and coffee splatter on the floor.

“Yes sir, right away,” Anna said, hurrying off.

Uriel followed behind her, back straight and untouched by the incident that had just occurred in his front lobby. Dean stared after him, face slack in disbelief. He had been sure Uriel was going to kick him out of the hotel. He probably would have if it hadn’t been for Anna’s quick intervention. Dean made a mental note to buy her an expensive dinner or a bouquet of flowers to show her his thanks. Or both.

Dean dropped his shoulders, the tension draining out of him now that the drama with Zach and Uriel was over. Castiel stood silently by his side, and Dean found his face unreadable when he turned to look at him.

“Cas, say something, man,” he said. He couldn’t tell if Castiel was upset with him or not for his display of violence.

Castiel’s eyes suddenly flashed with anger.

“ _That_ was taking care of things?” he reprimanded. Dean winced a little.

“It worked, didn’t it?” he said defensively.

Castiel just glared at him.

“Violence is not a solution,” he bit out, “You are lucky Uriel is so understanding. You could have cost me my job.”

“I know, I know,” Dean said. He heaved a loud, frustrated sigh. “I wasn’t thinking.” His green eyes flickered uncertainly to Cas’s steely blue ones. “He hurt you, and I just kinda…lost it,” he said, apologetically.

Castiel bristled and rolled his shoulders back. The anger in his eyes softened just a little. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” he said gruffly, shifting his weight. “Believe it or not, I could have handled Zachariah. I am not an invalid.”

“I never said you were,” Dean said, frowning, “I was just trying to help.”

“If I require your help I will ask for it,” Castiel bit back. He was angry again, though Dean couldn’t understand why.

“Hey.” He gripped Cas by the arm, pulling him around to meet his gaze. His brow pinched together in conviction. “It wasn’t just about you. Zach’s been asking for a beating like that for years. When he goes after me, whatever, I can shrug it off. It doesn’t bother me. But he went after you and I just… I don’t know, I couldn’t handle it. So I snapped. It would have been the same if he went after Sammy,” Dean explained. “Or Jo, or anyone else I care about. That’s just who I am and I’m not going to apologize for it.”

Castiel shifted again, uncomfortable by the admission.

“I see,” he said, looking down between them. The words were ambiguous and the man himself withdrawn and guarded. Dean wasn’t sure what had set them apart exactly, but he sure as hell wished he could make up for it.

“Cas—” he began.

Castiel stepped away from him, pulling his arm out of Dean’s grip.

“I have to get back to work,” he interrupted. The man hesitated for just a second, blue eyes flickering uncertainly up to Dean’s intense green ones, and then he averted them and walked away.

Dean sighed, frustrated, and ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t entirely sure where this left them. Was Castiel even interested in him anymore? Or had Dean fucked up on one too many occasions?

He guessed he’d figure it out soon enough.

* * *

Dean was on the phone as soon as he was back in his room, making good on his threat to toss Zach out on his ass. He didn’t even take the time to change or shower first.

It was amazing how quickly one could tear apart a collaboration that took years of hard work and painfully long negotiations to piece together.

The door to their suite suddenly slammed open, a loud bellow of _“DEAN!!”_ coming from the foyer. John’s loud footsteps echoed through the ornate living room. Dean had just got off a call and was getting ready to take a shower. He looked up into his father’s irate face as he stormed into the room. The man was _livid_.

“What the _hell_ is going on!?” his dad yelled. “I just got off the phone with Bobby. He said you’ve _terminated_ our contracts with Archangel Industries!?” He held up the phone in his fist, his face hard and voice shaking with barely controlled rage. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his old man this angry before.

“I can explain,” Dean said quickly, holding up his hands, “And it won’t be that bad, not if we can get out ahead of it.”

“Get out ahead of _what_ exactly!? What the _hell_ were you thinking!?” John bellowed, face red. He shoved up in Dean’s face, looking about ready to hit him.

“I wasn’t, okay!!?” Dean yelled back at him. He moved away with a growl, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “I wasn’t thinking! But look—I still made the right call,” he insisted.

“What _exactly_ happened with Zachariah today?” John’s rough voice threatened to exact and immediate punishment should the answer Dean gave him not meet with his approval. “The hotel manager mentioned there was an incident.”

“He made a pass at someone he shouldn’t have,” Dean said shortly. Just mentioning the fight from earlier had his blood boiling. He met his father’s eyes with his own, unwavering in his opinion that he’d done the right thing and stared him straight in the eyes, refusing to back down.

John’s face calmed by a fraction. By the looks of things, the older Winchester was beginning to understand why Dean had done what he did. But that didn’t mean he was off the hook.

“Do you have any idea what this will cost us?” John said harshly, the frown on his face deepening. “The stock points are going to _plummet_ when our shareholders find out about this,” he said. “Not to mention the hit to our revenue. He’s our biggest client, Dean. Give me one good reason why I should back you on this.”

“Because he’s an even bigger liability,” Dean argued, “Trust me, we’re better off not having anything to do with him.”

John’s brow furrowed and his frown deepened further, if that was even possible.

“Is that a professional opinion, or a personal one?” he asked.

Dean paused for a moment, halfway out of his sweaty t-shirt. He tugged it the rest of the way off and flung it with a vengeance onto the bed.

“Both.”

John gave a short nod of his head.

“Alright, I’m going out on a limb here, trusting your judgment,” he said. Dean relaxed half an inch, the relief showing on his face. His dad continued. “But we’re in trouble. Zachariah could sue us for breaking contract.”

“He won’t,” Dean said. His eyes flickered up to meet his dad’s. “Don’t ask me how I know. You’re just going to have to trust me on that too,” he said.

“Fine,” John said shortly, pressing his lips together, “But if you’re going to make rash decisions you had better be ready to make up the difference in our revenue.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Dean said. He took a breath to steel himself. If he had been waiting for the right moment to tell his father about his plans for the business, then this was the best chance he was going to get. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking… I’d like to stick around here, open up a branch in New York. I’ve been doing some research and there are a lot of opportunities floating around. I think I could do some good here.”

“Is that so?” John said. He peered at his son, eyes narrowing as though he was attempting to read between the lines.

Dean stiffened a little at his probing gaze and suddenly felt a hell of a lot more naked than he was.

“And I suppose this has nothing to do with your pretty friend downstairs?” John asked.

He meant Anna, but it still took Dean a moment to realize it because his mind was suddenly filled with bright, soulful blue eyes. He let a nervous laugh.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

Which was the truth, really.

“Fine,” John said, not caring enough to press the issue. “In that case, you can take over the meeting with Mr. Chen tomorrow.”

“Y-you’re serious?” Dean blurted, completely thrown off guard. The deal with Mr. Chen would establish their first real foothold in New York. It was the whole reason they’d come to New York in the first place. The man had connections all over the city, and if Dean could impress the guy, then there was every chance he would pass along the good word. “I-I’m not sure I’m ready,” he said, his confidence wavering. Sticking it to Zachariah was one thing. Making nice with a rich Chinese Executive who owned half the city was a different story. He hadn’t exactly shined the last time they’d met.

“You’ve just demonstrated that isn’t true,” John said, throwing Dean’s impulsive business decision back in his face. Dean winced. His father was testing him, daring Dean to fail and prove him right.

John glanced at his watch.

“I have a conference call in a few minutes with the board,” he said, shooting Dean a disapproving glare, “Somehow I need to convince them what you’ve just told me. You sure as hell haven’t given me much to work with.” He reached into his briefcase and drew out a large, thick manila folder. “This is everything I put together for the meeting tomorrow,” he told Dean, tossing it onto the bed. “Study it, and we’ll go over everything when I’m done,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered automatically.

John turned to go, leaving Dean standing alone in the middle of the hotel room hardly knowing what just hit him.

Had his father just agreed to let him run the New York office, or was his answer contingent upon how well Dean did at tomorrow’s meeting?

He supposed it was the latter. Knowing his dad, Dean still had some personal stock points to make up with the man.

He took a hurried shower, then grabbed the folder and hunkered down.

* * *

Dean worked diligently all morning, learning everything there was to know about Mr. Chen, his business, and how he ran it. He took a break around three to fuel up with cookies from the lobby. He kneaded at his forehead on the elevator ride down. He had a slight headache starting, possibly from all the stress and responsibility hanging over his head. That or hunger. He hadn’t even stopped for lunch.

Perhaps he would grab something quick at the hotel restaurant in addition to cookies to keep him going.

Cas was in his usual spot by one of the pillars in the lobby as Dean exited the elevator bay. He slowed, wondering if Cas was still angry at him for earlier.

“Hey Cas,” Dean greeted. For once there wasn’t even a hint of flirtation in his voice, just trepidation.

“Dean.” Castiel peered at him for a long moment, lips pressed tightly together in a way that had them puckering slightly. Then Cas lowered his eyes to the floor. “I am sorry for how I acted earlier,” he said, brow pinching together. He took a breath. “I was…angry, and upset, and I took it out on you. It was…uncalled for.”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean replied. Relief washed over him. Cas hadn’t been angry _at_ him, just angry in general. Dean could deal with that.

“It is not _fine_ ,” Castiel argued, refusing to drag his eyes up from the floor, “I am ashamed to admit it, Dean, but had you not intervened I would have done what Zachariah asked. I do not… _like_ feeling so powerless.”

“Cas, really, it’s fine man,” Dean assured him again, “Your job’s important. I get it.”

“No, Dean. You cannot understand because you have never felt what it is like to go without,” Castiel said. He hesitated as though he was about to explain, then thought better of it and gave his head a little shake. “It does not matter. I allowed my fear to get the better of me and would have done something regrettable had you not stepped in. I owe you my gratitude for that.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Dean insisted. He smiled, stepped in a little closer and trailed his hand down Castiel’s sleeve. “Except maybe lunch or something. For saving your ass again.”

“Yes, alright.” For the first time, Castiel’s eyes flickered up to his and he smiled softly. “That seems like a fair trade.”

“Damn straight it is,” Dean said. “It’ll have to wait, though. Big meeting tomorrow and…well, let’s just say if I fuck it up my perky ass will be on the first flight back to California.” His eyes dropped to the floor as his lips wavered from the smile he forced onto his face.

“I’m sure you will do just fine,” Castiel assured him. He smiled secretly to himself, like he knew something Dean didn’t.

“What?” Dean pressed him.

“Nothing,” Castiel replied, “Just that…you continue to surprise me.” His eyes raised to Dean’s. “I must return to work. Good luck at your meeting tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Dean said automatically. He wasn’t really thinking, though. He was still rather shell-shocked by the compliment Cas had just paid him.

Dean grabbed some food and then returned to work himself, Cas’s words swirling around in his head.

* * *

True to his word, John Winchester returned from his meeting with the company board with the intentions of going over things with his son. He found Dean dozing on the couch in the living room, the file for Mr. Chen spread out around him. There was a plate of half-eaten cookies on the coffee table and what looked to be a cup of java that had started fermenting hours ago. A packet of papers was in Dean’s hand, half-covering his face as he slept. He must have fallen asleep while working. The pages fluttered with every exhale.

John watched him for a moment attempting to reconcile the sudden change in the young man. Dean had never been this serious about the company before. He’d only ever been interested in partying, drinking, and sleeping around. John had tolerated it for years hoping he would grow out of it, but what was happening before his eyes was less of a growth spurt and more a complete reversal of character. All of it was a good thing—that wasn’t what worried him. John much preferred this new responsible version of his son over the reckless child he was leaving behind. He just wished he knew the reason for it.

Whatever it was—or the more likely scenario of _whomever_ —John owed her a gift basket.

He kicked lightly at the foot dangling off the edge of the couch. Dean snorted, the papers in his hand scattering across the floor as he jerked awake.

“Dad?” he said blearily. He rubbed a hand over his face. “What time is it?”

John felt the shadow of a smile on his face as he answered.

“Almost time for dinner. How are things coming along?” he asked.

Dean pushed himself into a seated position and glanced over the papers spread out before him.

“Yeah, good. I think I’ve got an idea about how to play this tomorrow,” he said. His eyes flickered up to his father, waiting to see what he’d say.

John bent down to pick up the papers that had fallen to the floor.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, handing them to his son.

Dean cracked a smile—a small, lopsided thing that belied his false bravado.

“Right, yeah.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Well, okay. I was thinking…”

John stood and listened as his son rattled off a couple of ideas, his eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise. Dean had a better grasp of the business than he let on. His son was busy chattering away, shuffling papers together and pulling out the important bits, pointing to pieces he’d highlighted and so he didn’t notice the change on John’s face. By the time he did look up, it was gone, hidden behind his father’s carefully arranged stoicism.

Whoever had inspired this change in his son was clearly a miracle worker, and John decided he owed her a hell of a lot more than a token gift for her contribution. He owed her his blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> That's it for Zachariah. *waves goodbye while flipping off* I got pretty bored of that conflict arch and probably would have deleted it had it not set up the entire rest of the fic. *shrug* So while I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, I'm happy to say that's that. 
> 
> I threw in some foreshadowing here...and I'm excited for how things pick up from here on out! I passed 200 pages/80,000 words this week and worked on a couple HUGE scenes/chapters that...are getting there but proving difficult. I'm lovin' every minute of it. :)
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	8. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets another of Castiel's friends and learns there is more to him than meets the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: for mentions of homelessness.**
> 
> Disclaimer: I apologize in advance for bad Polish.

* * *

The next day dawned far too quickly for Dean’s liking. He was up at seven to go over strategies with his dad one more time, and then it was time for the big meeting with Mr. Chen. John had left him with a few last suggestions on what to do and how to act and which tactics to use in the negotiations before wishing him luck and rushing off to another meeting on the opposite side of town.

Dean pulled his tired ass together quickly and tried to remember everything his father had told him as he was buttoning his suit jacket in the mirror.

He looked for Castiel on his way out, but didn’t see him.

It was just as well. He had much more important things on his mind at the moment. He needed to focus.

The meeting was grueling and it took all of Dean’s skill and tact to close the deal, but finally after two hours and a few rounds of whiskey, Dean got him to sign. And for two percent less than the guy had originally been willing to go. Dean relayed the good news via voicemail to John, then hopped back into the company car feeling lighter than air.

“Where to, Master Winchester?” the driver asked him.

Dean thought about it.

“Burger,” he answered after a short moment of consideration, “I don’t care where, but it better be fucking epic.”

“I think I know just the place,” the driver replied, pulling out into the street.

Just as they were passing the park, Dean saw a familiar face strolling down the road. Dean’s heart thumped a little against his chest. He was wearing dark jeans and a long tan coat, but it was definitely Castiel.

“Pull over. Now,” Dean ordered the driver. The driver did so and Dean shot out of the car, running back the way they’d come.

“Cas!” he yelled, dodging people and their silly sweater-wearing dogs on the crowded sidewalk. “Castiel!” he called.

The man in question turned around, a confused and inquisitive squint in his eyes. Dean wondered if he maybe needed glasses and jogged up to him.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, flashing Cas a large, floppy smile.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said.

“What’s up?” Dean asked.

“I was just on my way to the park,” Castiel replied. The man seemed pleased to see him.

“Day off?” Dean guessed.

“I work later,” Castiel said. His blue eyes rested on the business suit Dean was wearing. “How was your meeting?”

“Nailed it,” Dean replied with a large grin. “I’m off to celebrate. Join me?”

Castiel considered the offer for a tad longer than Dean liked, but then he nodded.

“Okay,” Cas said.

“Great.” Dean flashed him a smile. “The car’s right over there.” He gestured. “Do you like burgers?” he asked.

Castiel’s face suddenly lit up.

“I love burgers,” he replied.

They ended up at a well-known joint across from Lincoln Center with two orders of their world-famous burgers, fries, and a couple of sodas. They read the wall of celebrity signatures who had visited the place while they waited in anticipation.

On the first bite, Castiel was groaning into his burger.

“This is _heavenly_ ,” he said. He closed his eyes and chewed slowly, relishing the taste, “Honestly, I could eat nothing else for the rest of my life and die a happy man.”

Dean snorted a little and took a sip of his soda.

“You’d get fat eating these all the time,” he pointed out.

“Then I’d be a fat, happy man,” Castiel replied, stuffing another bite into his mouth.

“It is pretty fucking awesome,” Dean admitted, taking another bite of his own burger.

“These burgers could win _awards_ ,” Castiel said. He pointed to the item in question. “This isn’t just a burger, it is _salvation_.”

Dean laughed out loud at that.

“Well according to their website, Nat King Cole calls it the Cadillac of burgers. I’m more of a Chevy man myself but… for this I can make an exception,” Dean said.

“I rest my case.” There was a satisfied gleam in Cas’s eyes.

Dean laughed. Castiel was _definitely_ more fun to be around when Dean was feeding him grade-A angus beef, and he resigned to bring him back here as often as he wanted. They could always work off the calories afterward…ideally in a horizontal orientation.

They continued eating, sounds of pleasant chewing and slurping intermingled with light conversation. Dean learned Castiel had a number of siblings, all of them brothers. All of them, except Cas, had become priests like his parents wanted.

“You mind if I ask how your parents found out?” Dean asked, “About you and…what was his name again?”

“Balthazar,” Cas supplied, “And no, I don’t mind. I told them myself.” He frowned a little, chewing thoughtfully. “We were taught honesty and acceptance growing up and I didn’t realize it would be an issue. They were not as understanding as I hoped they would be.”

“Yeah, but you must have expected…I dunno, something. I thought priests couldn’t…you know, marry and stuff,” Dean said.

“They can’t, typically, though there are some independent churches that allow for it. I figured I would finish school and end up at one of them, but that particular institution had a much stricter policy,” Castiel explained.

“So your parents told the school and they kicked you out?” Dean surmised. Cas nodded. “You still talk to them?” Dean asked, tossing a fry into his mouth.

“It’s…complicated,” Castiel replied. “They love me, but they also believe I am going to hell.”

“Yeah, I can see how that could be a problem,” Dean replied.

“It was not a conducive upbringing for a young homosexual,” Castiel agreed. “I left home shortly after I turned 18.”

“And what about…Balthazar?” Dean asked.

“His parents were not as accepting,” Cas said. “As soon as they found out they disowned him. He was thrown out on the streets before he had turned sixteen.”

“Damn, that’s harsh.” Dean commented.

“Do not feel sorry for him,” Castiel continued, “Balthazar is a unique soul. He took his family’s rejection in stride and is now a very accomplished antiquities dealer.”

“Cool,” Dean said, impressed. Then it hit him. “Wait. _That_ Balthazar?” he said.

“The same,” Cas said, and Dean huffed in laughter.

“Damn. Guess there’s a silver lining to glaring homophobia after all,” Dean said.

The man in question was worth _millions_. And he got around. His tabloid fame was just as decorated as Dean’s own, only not nearly as straight. Suddenly Castiel’s guarded behavior toward him made a hell of a lot more sense.

“I suppose,” Castiel agreed. “Does anyone in your family know?” he asked.

“My brother, Sammy,” Dean replied, “It’s just the three of us—my dad, Sammy and me. Our mom died a few years ago. Cancer.” He tried to hide the pained look on his face, but it slipped through.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said softly.

“It’s okay. She went quickly, didn’t suffer. It’s about as much as you can ask for in the end,” Dean said.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, “To go with God’s Grace is indeed a gift.”

Dean stared at him for a moment. It always surprised him whenever Castiel sounded so…well, religious.

“Did your mother know?” Castiel asked.

“She knew,” Dean said. He looked down at his empty plate, pushing a soggy fry around it with his finger. “I never told her, but she knew. She made me promise…”

Dean bit off the rest of the sentence, his throat suddenly tight.

“ _Aheh_ , she made me promise to tell Sammy,” he said, pushing back the sudden emotion. “It took me a few months but I finally did as she asked.” He paused, thinking back, and smiled a little sadly. “I think she wanted me to have someone to talk to about it,” he confessed, “And she must have known I wouldn’t tell my dad. I think…I think she didn’t want me to be alone. We were always close, you know? I could talk to her about anything as a kid and she would always have my back.”

The waiter came by with the check then, and the conversation was put on pause for the moment. Dean paid for the meal and the two stepped out into the fresh October air. It was a warm day for the beginning of fall in New England, but the wind still held a bit of a cool chill to it. Dean let his driver know he was no longer needed and they set off down the street, walking toward the park in a companionable silence.

“Do you think you will ever tell him?” Cas asked him after a few minutes, “Your father?”

Dean frowned, letting out an introspective “ _Hmm_.” He was silent for a minute as he considered the question.

“I guess it depends on who I end up with,” he said finally. “If I fall in love with some chick, it’s not really an issue, but if it isn’t…then, yeah. I’d have to tell him.”

Castiel nodded a little stiffly beside him. Dean stopped and placed a light hand on his arm.

“Not _have to_ , that’s not what I meant,” he amended, looking at Cas in the bright sunlight of the street, “I just meant that—I mean, if _we_ —” He broke off, catching himself on the implication that had slipped out without his meaning to. What the hell was he saying? “I’d tell him,” Dean finished. He took a breath, reconsidering his words a second time. “I’d want to tell him.”

“I see.” Castiel’s answer was careful, guarded. Whether it was out of fear of losing love to the politics of family again or because Dean had just implied they had a future, he couldn’t be sure.

“I don’t think he’d disown me,” Dean said, continuing, “I think he’d be shocked and maybe uncomfortable at first, and maybe want a little distance. He’d probably try to put me in the rich-boy equivalent of the closet for a while. You know—send me off to some remote mid-western town to try and drum up some business with the locals.” Dean took a breath. “But I wouldn’t let him,” he said firmly. The hand at Castiel’s sleeve gripped tighter. “I wouldn’t let him, Cas. I’m serious about wanting to run the family business, but I wouldn’t let it come between…more important things.”

Dean wasn’t sure if he’d ever considered any of this before, or if he had ever poured his heart out in such a long-winded monologue to a man who was still half a stranger to him, but somehow the words just kept pouring out, honest and true.

It made the instinctual side of him want to turn tail and run in the opposite direction and keep running until he hit the west coast. He planted his feet on the sidewalk and took a deep breath.

“You know, you would have made a really good man of God,” Dean said, laughing nervously to break the tension. “You’ve got a way of drawing confessions out of people.”

Castiel smiled a little at that. There was a look in his eyes that was almost uncanny.

“Who says I’m not?” he replied, mysteriously. “I was named after an angel, after all,” he pointed out.

Dean sucked in a slow breath as his blue eyes peered into him.

“Yeah, I can see the resemblance,” Dean said.

Which was cheesy as _shit_ but Cas didn’t seem to be complaining.

They headed toward the park, walking side by side in companionable silence. Dean wasn’t really sure where they were going or what they were planning on doing once they got there, but he had the rest of the day free and found he really didn’t care either way.

Then Castiel headed toward the hot dog stand set up just outside the park’s entrance.

“Hot dogs?” Dean said, incredulous, trailing after him, “You can’t still be hungry, not after the meal we just had.”

Cas smiled back at him.

“It is not what you think,” he said.

Castiel approached the hot dog stand owner, a sturdy, graying man who was still strikingly handsome in his old age. The man looked up and grinned when he saw who it was.

“Castiel, my favorite customer,” he greeted in a heavy Polish accent.

“Marcin, how are you?” Castiel greeted, “How is Kalina?”

“Good, she have midterms next week,” Marcin replied, “I worry she get in trouble at college,” the man said, “With the boys, you know.”

Cas chuckled. “Yes, I do,” he replied. His eyes flickered briefly to Dean, then back to the older man. “Marcin, this is Dean,” Castiel introduced.

“Any friend of Castiel is friend of mine,” Marcin said, shaking Dean’s hand enthusiastically. He turned to Cas. “The usual, my friend?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Castiel said.

The older man reached under his cart and came back with a bag of squished, slightly moldy hot dog buns. Castiel thanked Marcin and handed him a ten dollar bill, to which Dean raised an eyebrow. He could have bought about four hot dogs for the same price. What was going on? He listened to the pair chat easily for a few more minutes about Marcin’s daughter and Castiel’s continued plan for college.

“So, Dean, what do you do?” Marcin asked, turning the focus of the conversation over to him.

Dean shifted, a little uncomfortable.

“I, uh…help my dad run the family business,” Dean said, “Commercial real estate, rental properties—that sort of thing,” he explained. “We own a few motels across the country too, mostly in the Midwest.”

“ _Oh_ , so he is rich business man,” Marcin said to Castiel. The man’s bushy gray eyebrows traveled up into his hairline and he sent Cas a look that was easily interpreted as _“You had better keep a hold on this one.”_

Castiel snorted, but Dean thought he saw a bit of a blush across his nose.

“Marcin has a strange preoccupation with my love life,” Castiel noted, his blue eyes flickering up to Dean’s. “No matter how many times I tell him it is none of his business. ” This he directed to Marcin. The tone in his voice was chiding, but there was warmth to it too.

“Only because you not seem to care,” Marcin rebuked. The old man leaned in to Dean and said in a hushed voice, “He will never admit, but Castiel is bit of a romantic,” he said.

“Marcin, kindly refrain from telling him all of my secrets,” Cas said, “At least until after the first date.”

“And what you call this?” Marcin asked, gesturing between the two. He gave Dean a pointed look.

“Uh,” Dean said, glancing at Cas, “We just sorta ran into each other,” he explained.

“So? Is still not a date?” Marcin pressed.

“Hey, I asked,” Dean said, feeling the need to defend himself. “Things didn’t work out.”

“And your tongue is broken now?” Marcin said. He was giving Dean that same hard, expectant look from before.

Dean opened his mouth to protest. So much had happened in the past few days that he hadn’t had the chance to ask again. He meant to say as much, but Marcin continued before he could.

“Young people these days, is crazy,” Marcin said, shaking his head in commentary on the complete ineptitude of Dean’s generation when it came to good old-fashioned courtship. “I tell you. When I meet my darling Izabela, I ask her every day, ‘Go on date with me,’ and then I give her a rose, every day. It take her three years to say yes.” The older man held up the appropriate number of fingers, shaking them emphatically in Dean’s face. Then he sighed, a soft, contented smile working its way across his face at the memory. “I never be so happy,” he said. “In one year we marry, year after Kalina is born,” he said brightly, concluding the story.

Dean laughed, and glanced over at Cas, who was smiling warmly at the older man’s recount.

“Well Marcin, you’ve made your point,” Dean said. He turned to Cas. “Cas? I’m fresh out of roses, but will you go out with me anyway?”

Castiel looked at him, and this time the blush across his nose was plain as day.

“I already said yes,” he pointed out, looking away in embarrassment.

“Tonight then. Dinner?” Dean pressed.

“I can’t tonight,” Cas said, “I have work.”

“Okay then, tomorrow,” Dean amended.

Castiel hesitated only briefly, then nodded.

Marcin clapped his hands together.

" _Świetnie_ , good, good!” Marcin exclaimed, “Now, go, you scare away all my customers,” he said, shooing them away.

Cas bid his friend farewell and then turned toward the park. Dean gave the old man a little wave and followed along beside him.

“I never tire of hearing that story,” Castiel murmured after a few minutes.

“He seems like a good friend,” Dean said, grinning. He pointed to the bag in Cas’s hand. “So what’s that for?” he asked, curious.

“You will see,” Cas replied with a secretive smile.

They walked in amiable silence, weaving around dog walkers and bicyclists and people jogging in the park. When the pond came into view, Dean figured it out.

“It’s for the ducks?” he asked.

Castiel nodded.

“I come here a couple times a week,” he said.

They stopped at the edge of the water and Cas undid the knot in the bag he was carrying. Around them, the ducks began waddling up the bank making a fuss. Dean laughed.

“I think they recognize you,” Dean said, “That or the sound of the bag.”

Cas removed a bun from the bag and began breaking it up into little pieces.

“I have been coming here for a long time,” Castiel replied, intent on the task. “They know when to expect me.”

He tossed the handful of crumbs to the ducks, smiling softly as they fluttered and quacked in their haste to gobble up the treat.

“What made you start?” Dean asked. He was curious. It was such a strange thing for a grown man to do in the city. He hadn’t fed the ducks since he was a kid.

Cas held a bun out to him, which Dean took. He ripped off a little chunk and threw it to the ducks. The bellboy was silent for a long minute before answering.

“When I first moved to the city it was not so kind to me,” Castiel explained. He squinted out at the pond, eyes wrinkling heavily at the corners. “I was homeless for a number of months. I lived here, in the park.”

“Shit, really?” Dean blurted, “You’re serious?” He drew a sharp breath, caught by surprise. “How come you never mentioned…the other day, at the soup kitchen?” he asked.

“It is not an easy topic to bring up,” Castiel said, looking down at the ducks in shame.

“Yeah, okay, I get that,” Dean replied awkwardly.

He stared down at the ducks, focusing intently on feeding them for a couple minutes as Cas’s admission sunk in. It made sense now why Cas was so worried about losing his job. What had he said? _You have never had to go without._

Dean thought he meant his crappy apartment or the fact he didn’t own a TV, not…not _this_. He would never have guessed Castiel had such a troubled past, especially considering his positive outlook on life and easy way with people. He made his relationship to his parents sound almost benign, but clearly it was more complicated than that if there was no financial support coming from them.

“So your folks cut you off when you left home?” Dean asked suddenly, needing to know.

Castiel nodded. “It was not so bad. It was spring, so the weather was fair, though I did go hungry more often than I care to remember.” Cas paused to toss out more of the bread. “That is when I met Marcin. He fed me even when I didn’t have a cent to my name.”

Cas held another bun out to him.

“Nice guy,” Dean said, taking it from him and continuing to feed the ducks. Leave it to Castiel to find the only charitable person in New York City.

“I met Paul around that time too. He helped see me through a turbulent time in my relationship with God and introduced me to a number of helpful places—shelters where I could sleep out of the rain, as well as the kitchen we went to the other day. I met Anna shortly after that. She found me here in the park. She asked me why someone so young was sleeping outside on a bench. I told her I was waiting for a sign from God to show me where to turn and she turned around and pointed to The Plaza and said ‘There. That is your sign.’ She marched me inside—” Here Castiel hung his head in shame. “—smelling to high heaven and covered in dirt—and convinced Uriel to give me a job that very same day.”

“She’s pretty awesome,” Dean commented.

“She is a dear friend,” Castiel replied, “I stayed with her for a few months before I could afford my own place.”

“Sounds like you did alright,” Dean said, fidgeting with the bread in his hands, “Better than most in your shoes.”

“I was very fortunate,” Castiel agreed, nodding. “I come here to remind myself of that,” he continued, “And to feel connected to nature. I spent a large part of my childhood exploring the forest behind our house. It is where I went when I felt the need for solitude. The transition to the city was…difficult, but here I feel closer to home.”

Cas handed him another bun and they were silent for a minute, tossing bread to the ducks.

“So where’s home?” Dean asked, picking up the conversation again.

“Minnetonka, Minnesota,” Castiel replied. “Near Minneapolis. What about you?”

“Lawrence, Kansas,” Dean replied, “We moved out to California when my brother got into Stanford. Business is better out that way, Dad said, but I think the truth is after Mom he couldn’t bear to be away from us. He’s always been super protective of Sammy.”

“Family is important,” Cas agreed. “He sounds like a good father.”

“He is,” Dean said. “Drives me nuts, sometimes treats me and Sammy like we’re good little soldiers in his own personal war, but he’s a good man and a hard worker.”

“It sounds like a lot to live up to,” Castiel remarked.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean said. He fell silent and tossed some more bread to the ducks, watching them squabble for the pieces. “What about your folks? What are they like?”

Castiel was quiet for a long moment, considering his answer.

“They are very compassionate people,” he said finally, “Always involved in something, always organizing some sort of charity event. My mother, Helen, ran for Town Council one year, though she didn’t win. She said it was a good thing, after, because it would have meant spending less time volunteering at the church.”

“And your dad?” Dean pressed.

“His name is William. He is a family man and a successful businessman. Also very involved in the church. He played the organ and sang for mass on the weekends.”

Something about that made Dean bristle in anger. He couldn’t believe two people so involved in charity work could let their son go hungry. It just didn’t seem right, and he said so.

“They didn’t know,” Castiel replied. He looked sideways at Dean, his eyes unfettered by anger or blame. “I didn’t tell them, and I have no intentions of doing so now.”

“Why the hell not?” Dean demanded, shredding the bun in his hand, “Seems to me you should. Maybe then they’d feel bad about the way they treated you.”

“That is precisely why,” Castiel replied, “They are good people, Dean, for all their flaws. That past is behind me, and to tell them now would only hurt them for something that is no longer relevant.”

“Hmph,” Dean grunted, still angry about it. If it were him he wasn’t sure he could be so forgiving.

But…he would never look at a homeless person in quite the same way again.

“So where did the whole ‘I want all of our kids to be priests’ thing come from?” Dean asked, honestly curious but also needing to change the subject.

“That I have no idea,” Castiel answered with a shake of his head. “My best guess is that they were so devout that they wanted to give everything to God, including their children.”

“Huh,” Dean said, considering that. “Guess I don’t really get it,” he confessed. “We didn’t grow up religious. My mom believed in God, but she never took me and Sammy to church or anything. I think she wanted us to find faith on our own so she never tried to force it on us.”

“She sounds like a wise woman,” Cas said quietly. “I am sorry I will never get a chance to meet her.”

“Uh…” Dean flushed a little, embarrassed by the way Cas made that sound. “Thanks.” He flushed deeper. “She would have liked you. She was always hoping that I would meet someone like you.”

Castiel tilted his head and shot him a curious look.

“Someone like me?” he asked.

“I mean, someone who…someone…” Dean trailed off, words failing him. The impulse to flee, to turn tail and run in the opposite direction returned stronger than ever. “Never mind, forget it.”

Dean suddenly became very interested in the hot dog bun in his hand and shredded it between his fingers to vent some of his nervous energy.

In the distance, he could hear the faint chiming of church bells signaling the hour.

“I should go,” he said abruptly, tossing out the rest of the bun.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly. He placed a hand on Dean’s arm, and Dean’s eyes flickered back up to his face. “Would you like to see my favorite place in the city?”

“Uh…” Dean was silent for a long moment, staring at Cas in a dumbfounded haze. What the hell was happening? “Sure,” he said.

Castiel carefully tied a knot to close up the bag of buns and then slipped his hand into Dean’s, leading him back toward the city.

Dean felt a little breathless, nervous in a way he’d never felt before. What was this feeling? He felt like he was about to burst apart in a million different pieces and the only thing anchoring him to the ground at the moment was Castiel’s hand in his.

“Cas?” Dean said, breaking the silence.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel answered.

“Why did you agree to go out with me?” Dean asked, “I mean, after everything that’s happened.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth tugged upward in a secretive smile.

“I admit I had my misgivings at first,” Castiel replied after a moment, “I thought you were like Balthazar—selfish, just looking to get laid, and that you would run as soon as things got serious. But you keep showing up and looking out for me. You didn’t give up even when I pushed you away…” Here Cas trailed off, frowning slightly. “I regret doing so now.” His blue eyes flickered up to Dean’s. “I am sorry, Dean, for how I treated you. It is obvious to me now that you care for me, and I want you to know that I am grateful for all that you have done for me.”

Dean stopped at that, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. He stared at Cas for a long moment, completely floored by what he was hearing, then pulled him closer. His free hand went to the side of Cas’s face as he leaned in to cover Cas’s lips with his own, kissing him in the middle of Central Park.

He felt the bag of moldy hot dog buns hit his back as Castiel looped his arm around him and pulled him closer, breathing into him and pressing back eagerly. Dean opened his mouth a little wider and Cas’s tongue slipped in, tasting and exploring and seeming to ask questions that Dean didn’t have the answers to just yet.

He pulled back and rested his forehead against Cas’s, thumb stroking the side of his face. They stood in silence for a long time, breathing in each other’s air and feeling the energy pulse between them. And it wasn’t just arousal, though that was there too. It was something more.

At some point they decided wordlessly to continue walking, past The Plaza and down Fifth Avenue. Dean wondered where they were going but had a feeling Cas wouldn’t tell him if he asked.

They crossed the street and there was St. Patrick’s Cathedral looming up in front of them. When Castiel pulled him toward it, Dean stopped in his tracks.

“Cas,” he started to say, uncomfortable with their destination. Churches weren’t exactly his idea of a fun time.

“It is not what you think,” Castiel said, “Do you trust me, Dean?”

Dean hesitated, then nodded and allowed Cas to pull him forward.

Castel led him into the lobby of the church, then around the sides of the pews toward the back. When they passed the altar and slipped into a room behind it, Dean started to feel a little uneasy again.

“Are we allowed to be back here?” he asked. Castiel looked back at him with a faint grin on his face.

“Not normally, but I have special access,” he replied.

“Of course you do,” Dean said, snorting a little. Cas seemed to have an in everywhere they went. The guy had more connections than he did, and most of his were only because he could buy them.

When they headed toward a narrow staircase in the back, Dean started to get curious. They climbed for a number of minutes, stairs winding up and up until Dean was sure there was no higher they could go.

“What is this, the stairway to heaven?” he joked, out of breath.

Cas chuckled softly.

“I suppose it is in its own way,” he said.

Finally they reached a small landing. The cramped room was only a few feet across in diameter and circular. If Dean had to guess, they were in one of the Cathedral’s many spires. He moved toward the narrow window set in the old stone of the steeple, peering out to the city below. He whistled.

“Quite a view,” he commented.

“We are not there yet,” Castiel said. He pointed to a spiral staircase leading up to a trap door.

“What’s up there, the roof?” Dean asked.

Cas just grinned at him and started up the stairs. Dean followed behind him, curiosity peaked.

Cas stopped at the top of the stairwell and pulled a small ring of keys from his coat pocket. He selected an older brass one and unlocked the hatch above him, pushing it open and disappearing through the small opening. Then his face appeared from above and a hand reached out to help Dean up. He took it and allowed Cas to hoist him up through the hatchway.

A wave of vertigo hit him almost immediately and Dean stumbled. Castiel gripped him a bit tighter and placed a hand at his back to help steady him, for which Dean was grateful. He’d never been the best with heights.

When his head stopped spinning, Dean looked around and took in where they were.

Above him was a large copper bell, green with age. A number of smaller bells hung around the perimeter of the steeple.

They were in the bell tower.

“Woah.”

Dean looked out over the city, taking in the view from the top of the steeple. He edged toward the wall cautiously, still feeling a little off-balance and grateful that Cas had a hold on him. A number of pigeons complained and fluttered away as he approached the window. Below them the streets of New York City crisscrossed like threads in a strange, steel-gilded tapestry.

“Cas, this is amazing,” Dean said, staring out at the city. “How the hell do you know about this place?”

“I help to ring the bells sometimes,” Castiel replied, “And before I worked for the opera house I worked here, cleaning out the belfry.”

“What is it with you and high places?” Dean joked. He cast a sidelong look at Cas, at the contented smile on his face.

“I am not sure. I like viewing the world from up above,” Cas said. “It helps to give me a wider perspective on things when I am feeling lost or confused.” He was quiet for a moment, looking out at the city. “It will sound strange, but… I feel closer to the people of this city up here, like I am watching over them,” Castiel confessed.

“You know, my mom used to tell me stories when I was a kid,” Dean said, licking his lips, “about the angels, said they were watching over me. Just before she died she said…” Dean’s eyes flickered up to meet Cas’s gaze. “She said she would send one to look after me. I’m thinking now she meant you.”

Castiel’s eyes widened and he blinked twice, his face going blank in his surprise. Dean wasn’t sure what he was thinking, and suddenly felt foolish for saying anything. He wasn’t even sure why he did, except that with all this sentimental chit-chat it had just sort of… slipped out.

“Shit, sorry,” Dean said quickly, looking down. “That was a dumb thing to say. It’s not like I’m—I mean we haven’t even—” He broke off, feeling restless and let a breath out through his nose.

He felt fingers gripping his chin, tilting it up. Then suddenly Cas’s lips were pressed to his, soft and warm and certain. He pulled back after a long minute, breathing into Dean’s personal space. Dean felt his heart flutter a little in his chest, as if the organ had suddenly sprouted wings.

“I um,” Dean cleared his throat, but his voice still came out raspy, “We should go before they decide to ring these things,” he said.

“They only just rang the hour,” Cas said.

“Oh.” Dean pulled in a breath, seeming to recall the sound of church bells in Central Park.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly, “Why do I get the feeling you are trying to run away from me?” he asked.

“I’m not,” Dean said quickly. He winced a little. “Okay, maybe I am. But not for the reasons you think. I just…I’ve never done this before,” he confessed.

“Kissed an angel in the belfry?” Castiel teased.

“No. Well, that too.” Dean smiled, feeling a little breathless. “No, I meant…dating and stuff. I’m worried I’m going to fuck it up.”

“Why would you think that?” Castiel asked, forehead crinkling together.

“I dunno, cuz I’m a moron?” Dean said, “Feels like everything I do I fuck things up.” He let out a nervous laugh. “I mean, I’ve already messed this up what…five or more times? I’m fucking hopeless…” Dean frowned, looking down between them. Castiel was still standing very close, lips just out of reach. Dean slid his hands over the tan fabric of the man’s shoulders and down his arms. “I just…I want this to work,” he said, “More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

Cas nodded, a faint grin adorning his otherwise unreadable face.

“Then we will figure out a way to make it work,” his angel replied.

Dean blinked, staring into eyes as blue as the sky stretched above them, bright and full of certainty. Cas seemed so sure of them, even now at the onset of this small relationship…and that wasn’t even accurate because they hadn’t agreed to call it anything yet, but Dean found it so easy to have faith when Castiel looked at him like this.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Cas, his hand scrunching the back of Castiel’s tan trench coat. Cas’s hands were pressed into the small of his back, pulling him in—ever closer. A couple of pigeons flew past their heads, but Dean barely even registered the interruption. He continued to kiss Castiel deeply, until he felt his inclination to run away fade into a feeling of rightness, of possibility, and a promise of things to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> This chapter feels like such a milestone for me! This was one of the first things I wrote when I started this fic back...oh, 3 or 4 months ago, so it's friggin' crazy to me that it got stuffed back to chapter 8 at over 100 pages! There's so much important backstory in this chapter AND the scene inspired from the title so I'm super excited to finally be posting this one.
> 
> Two new developments: Kevin Tran and his mother have decided to make an appearance. I also have an idea for an ending, but it's still molding itself into an actual plot, so we'll see where that goes. The story's taking on a life of its own at this point and I feel like I'm just along for the ride! ^__^
> 
> Fun trivia: The restaurant they go to is PJ Clarke's.


	9. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean enlists the help of his fairy godmother (Sam) with the intention of sweeping Cas off his feet on their first-ever date. He succeeds, but not in the way he'd planned...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning: minor religious references.** Also schmoop. Lots of schmoop. You might need a tums for the nauseating amount of schmoop.

* * *

Dean paced the length of his room, a hand over his mouth. His cell phone was in his other hand, gripped between his fingers so tightly the tips had turned white. He’d already attempted the call he was trying to make a dozen or more times. He’d lost count. Every time it started to ring he chickened out and hung up.

The phone buzzed in his hand and Dean let out a startled yelp. He checked the caller ID and swore. His pacing picked up a notch and he practically flew across the room.

Finally after the fifth ring the phone went silent and Dean let out a breath of relief. He was about to throw the phone on the bed and give up when it rang again.

“Shit.” Dean swore again. This time he pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he answered, screwing his eyes shut.

“You keep butt dialing me.”

Sam’s annoyed voice filtered in over the other line. Dean laughed.

“Oh, uh…oops, sorry about that,” he said. He took a shuddering breath. It was now or never. “But hey, listen, I’ve meaning to call you anyway...now a good time?”

Sam was silent on the other end for a long moment, like he was checking something.

“Yeah, I got a few minutes until my next class starts. What’s up?” he said finally.

“Uh.” Now faced with it, Dean wasn’t sure he could say what he wanted to say. “Uh, stuff. You? How’s Jess? School?”

“All good,” Sam replied. He was silent for a tick. “Dad mentioned you’re moving to New York?”

“He said that?” Dean asked, gulping. “Uh, yeah, turns out I like it here. The weather actually changes for one. So… figured I’d stick around for a while.”

“Uh huh,” Sam said. There was a prominent pause, and Dean could almost feel the suspicious look his brother would be casting him if he were here in person. “Dean, you’re acting weird. Did you meet someone?” he asked.

“Uhhh...heh, w-why would you say that?” Dean asked, bumbling over his words. He winced with the phone to his ear as he heard Sam chuckling from the other end. He groaned. “Shit. That obvious, huh?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Sam replied. “So? You gonna tell me who it is?” he asked.

Dean noticed he specifically refrained from using qualifying pronouns.

“’S name’s Cas,” Dean said. He gulped. “Uh, that’s short for Castiel,” he added.

Sam gave him a long-suffering sigh over the phone.

“Dean, stop being a little bitch and just tell me already,” Sam said, “Is it a guy or a girl?”

“G-guy,” Dean forced out.

There was a smug “ _hmph,_ ” from the other end.

“Knew it,” Sam said. He _definitely_ sounded smug. “That wasn’t you butt-dialing,” he said, “That was you wimping out.”

“Shaddup,” Dean blurted. His face was burning. He ran a hand over it nervously. “I uh…the reason I called. I have a… a d-date.” He swallowed hard, and hoped it wasn’t audible over the receiver. “Tonight. And I’m…I’m kinda freaking out about it.”

Sam laughed.

“Yeah, I can tell,” he said. “What is this, your first?”

“No!” Dean insisted, “It’s just—look, it’s been a while, okay? And I’ve never…I’ve never actually done this with a guy before. I don’t know what to do. I mean, are the rules the same? Should I…I dunno, open the door for him? Buy him flowers or some shit?”

Sam was now full out laughing on the other line. So hard Dean could see it in his mind’s eye—his little brother’s sasquatch-sized frame doubled over, holding his middle, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes.

“You’re not helping,” Dean said gruffly over the phone.

Sam chuckled a few more times and then let out a long “ _Ahhh_.” Dean envisioned him wiping away the tears.

“Sorry. Just, you must really like this…what was his name?”

“Castiel. Cas.” Dean paused, swallowing. “And yeah, I guess I do. He’s…he’s kind of awesome, Sammy,” Dean admitted, grinning over the phone, “And like, hot. Really hot. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Sam replied dryly. “So, what’s he like?”

Dean blanched a little, not knowing how to answer that question.

“Uh…uh, I dunno, he’s…nice. Interesting. Smart. Hot. Did I mention that part?” Dean asked.

Sam laughed.

“Yeah, you did,” he said. “So? Where are you taking him?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted, confidence failing. “I’m shit at this Sam. I don’t know how to put a proper date together. Usually it’s just…drinks and then sex, you know?”

“Well, what does he like?” Sam asked.

“Uh…opera?” Dean answered. There was a surprised bark of laughter at the other end of the phone, and Dean rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Sammy.”

“Sorry,” Sam said, holding back his laughter, “Just…never took you for _that_ kind of a queer,” he said. At Dean’s growl, he said, “Guess it’d be weird to bring him to the opera on a first date. So, what else does he like?”

“Um, I dunno,” Dean said. His confidence wavered again. “Feeding the ducks. Volunteering at soup kitchens…um…high places?”

“Wow, you’re giving me a lot to go on here,” Sam said dryly.

“Burgers. He likes burgers,” Dean supplied lamely.

Dean could almost hear the eye roll from over the phone.

“So take him out for burgers,” he said.

“We did that already,” Dean replied, shaking his head. “Plus I want it to be special.”

“So take him to a five-star restaurant,” Sam supplied next. “Wait, no, that’s really not your scene, huh?”

“Nope,” Dean replied. “Not his either, if I had to guess.”

“What’s this guy do for a living anyway?” Sam asked.

“He’s um…he works at The Plaza,” Dean told him, “He’s the…bellboy.”

Sam was laughing again, in big whooping guffaws. Dean made a frustrated, strangled sound.

“ _Sammy_.”

“Sorry,” Sam apologized. “It’s just…it’s so like you, dude.” He chuckled. “So…hey, you’re in New York, right? Why not take him to Cony Island?”

“Where?” Dean asked.

“You know. The fairgrounds. It’s a classic. So’s the Central Park Zoo. Or… I dunno, if you wanted something more original, try an opera-themed restaurant.”

“Yeah, okay…” Dean thought about that for a minute. “That could work.”

“Or a comedy club? Everyone likes those.”

“Right.”

“Get the idea yet?” Sam asked, like he was speaking to a two-year-old.

Dean huffed over the phone.

“Yeah, smartass, I think I get the idea.” He huffed again, then his voice softened. “Hey, thanks,” he said quietly.

“No problem,” Sam replied. There was a grin in his voice. “Hey, I can’t wait to meet this guy. He’s coming to the party, right? Dad said we’re moving it to New York this year.”

“Oh, um…I haven’t asked him,” Dean said. He suddenly felt a little dizzy and had to sit down on the bed. “That’s two weeks from now, Sammy,” he pointed out.

Sam laughed.

“Yeah, no kidding. Think you can make it that long?” his brother asked.

Dean took a deep breath.

“I really don’t know,” he replied.

There was a beat of silence over the phone as Sam seemed to soak up the seriousness of his answer.

“Hey, come on, you got this,” Sam said, encouragingly. “Doesn’t matter if you’ve never done it before, man. If you like him, and if he’s as awesome as you make him sound…don’t worry so much, okay? Everyone feels like this in the beginning. Even if you’re good at dating and relationships, the more you like someone, the more it feels like you’re gonna fuck it up. Hell, I felt the same way with Jess when we started dating. Pretty sure I couldn’t get out a full sentence without stuttering for at least a couple weeks. It’s normal. So just…relax.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a long minute. He let Sam’s words soak in, trying to get a grip on his frayed nerves.

“Yeah, okay,” he answered finally, voice croaking out over the receiver. “Thanks, Sammy.”

“Anytime,” Sam replied. “Hey, I gotta run. And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Break a leg, man.”

The phone went quiet. Dean lowered it from his ear and sat on the bed staring at it for a long, long time.

* * *

It took him much longer than he would ever admit, but Dean finally scraped together a date that met with his high standards.

Honestly, never having done this sort of thing he was just kind of winging it, but he tried to at least take Sam’s advice. It would be fine. It would. Probably.

Dean had barely finished putting the final touches on his date with Cas that night when he heard the door to their room open and his father’s deep voice of _“Dean,”_ calling his name. He stowed his phone in his jean’s pocket and strode out to the main room to greet his old man.

“Hey, dad,” he said.

“Dean. I just got off the phone with Mr. Chen. He’s very pleased with how things went yesterday,” John said. The old man was beaming at him, and Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a look that proud on his dad’s face.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, tentative, still not quite believing it.

“You’ve done good, son,” John said, clapping a large hand on his shoulder. “Seems you’ve got what it takes to run this company after all.” The full-out grin on the old man’s face grew wider. “What’s say we celebrate? Go somewhere special for dinner?”

“Oh. Uh, can’t,” Dean said. He gulped, hoping the blush that worked up his neck wouldn’t reach his face before this little chat was over. “Date tonight. And I’m not cancelling again. I already made reservations.”

John chuckled and shook his head.

“Lucky girl,” he said. Dean just nodded nervously, wishing he didn’t have to lie. “Alright, I think you’ve earned a night to yourself. How about you join your old man for a drink at least?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Dean replied. He grinned, trying not to show his relief, or the fact that he was more than a little pleased by his father’s approval of him.

They sat in the parlor, sharing a glass of whiskey from the wet bar. In all the times Dean shared a drink with his dad, he wasn’t sure it had been this…familial.

“So, tell me about this new flame of yours,” John said abruptly after closing a conversation about the company’s stock prices. (Dean had been right. It hadn’t been that bad. In fact, with the new deal in the works, they were even up a few points. _Business Insider_ had featured an article on the changes entitled, _‘Out with the Old, In with the New_.’)

“Uh. W-what?” Dean sputtered. He nearly choked on his whiskey but somehow managed to swallow it. It burned down his throat, though that was preferable to it coming out his nose.

“I want to hear all about it,” John said. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“W-w… _aheh_. R-right. Well. Um… jeez, where do I even begin?” Dean slid his eyes to the ceiling, completely at a loss. Did he start with the fact that _her_ wasn’t actually a _her_ , or did he lie out his ass?

“Bet she’s a looker,” John said. He peered at his son, grinning at the blush that Dean could feel rising steadily to reach his cheeks.

“Ye-yeah, I think so,” Dean forced.

“Is she smart? Funny?” John pressed. He heaved a long sigh. “Come on, Son. You’ve got to give me something to go on here.”

“Uh. Uhh…” Dean drew a blank. He dropped his gaze to his drink and took a long gulp. “Dunno what to tell ya. Um…smart? Hell yeah. Funny…I dunno, in…h-her own way, maybe. And…k-kind. Caring. Um… can sing really good. Like…like, better than mom could.”

“Blonde? Like your mother? Or brunette?”

“Uh. Brunette,” Dean replied. He gulped. _God damn_. It wasn’t a word one used to describe a _dude_ , but…

John’s brow furrowed.

“So…it’s someone different than the pretty desk clerk downstairs,” he surmised.

“Uh. Y-yeah. Anna’s just…she’s just a friend. She helped set us up,” Dean explained. He let out the breath he’d been holding. Well. At least that much was true.

“Well? Don’t keep me in the dark, Dean. What’s her name?”

Dean gulped. He was going to hell. Straight in a rainbow-laced hand basket, God help him.

“Carmen,” he lied, “Her name is Carmen. She’s a model. Beer commercials.”

It was the first name that came to mind. The girl that meant nothing— _absolutely nothing to him_. Damn it all to hell and back _._

“When can I meet her?” John asked.

“First date, Dad,” Dean said quickly. He swallowed past the sudden nausea and dry mouth. “Give it a few weeks, yeah? We haven’t even…” Dean trailed off. _They hadn’t slept together yet._ Shit. He really didn’t mean to be digging his own grave here.

“That serious, huh?” John asked, raising his eyebrows.

Dean bit down on the inside of his cheek. _Shit_. He never should have said anything to begin with.

“Yeah, maybe,” he replied anyways, softly. “I don’t know yet. Too early to tell. But I’m hoping…” Dean took a deep, _deep_ breath, gathering up all the courage in his twenty-some-odd years. “I’m hoping I’ll get to introduce you some day. Maybe. If things go well. I don’t know, but I’m…hoping.”

A knowing grin spread across John’s face. The man took a sip of whiskey. If he had an opinion, he kept it to himself. Dean wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He rather felt like he’d just dodged a bullet.

Dean’s head swiveled to the clock on the wall, suddenly alarmed. Nearly four o’clock. He bolted to his feet.

“I’ve got to get ready,” he said.

He slammed the glass down on the end table and escaped to his room.

* * *

Dean checked himself in the mirror one last time, then scowled at his reflection when he realized he was _preening_. He was not doing this. Oh hell no. But, hey, his hair did look pretty good. He gave his reflection a bit of shrug and a sexy smile and made for the door.

He and Cas were meeting across from The Plaza in front of the park. Their usual spot.

Dean was nervous as hell but trying not to let it show. He’d changed three times. _Three times_. This was so unlike him. It was ridiculous. His stomach felt like it was in his mouth. He’d ended up back in the first thing he chose—nothing special, something he would wear any day. But that was kind of the point; regardless of how much he wanted to impress Cas (and he _did_ , which was also ludicrous) he didn’t want to show him a person he wasn’t. Which is why he chose a slate-blue tee and army-green shirt under his favorite leather jacket and a pair of worn yet stylish jeans.

Dean took a shuddering breath, passing the air out his pursed lips in a slow exhale. They trembled as he fought to gain some semblance of control over his frayed nerves. Time to head out.

His father gave him a thumbs up and a _“Good luck, son,”_ before leaving. Dean answered with a stuttered, “T-th-thanks,” and practically tripped out the door.

He rode the elevator down to the lobby and just focused on breathing.

Anna caught his eye on the way out and winked.

_“Good luck!”_ she mouthed at him as he crossed the lobby.

Dean gave her his best attempt at a smile and exited the hotel.

Damn. All these people wishing him well… He kind of felt like a Disney Princess or the protagonist in a _really cheesy_ romantic comedy.

Castiel was waiting to the left of one of the old wrong-iron lamps that marked the small gate across from The Plaza. He was leaning up against the worn and weather-stained rock wall with his hands on either side of him, gripping the small lip of where the rock banister met the wall. He was wearing the same dark jeans from the club the other night and a deep maroon shirt underneath his long tan raincoat. His head was turned to the side, his face pensive as he watched a pigeon strut up the sidewalk toward him.

He looked up suddenly and saw Dean. Their eyes met, and the breathless feeling in Dean’s chest refused to go away.

“Hey,” he said hoarsely when he was close enough.

“Dean.” Castiel looked at him and smiled softly. “I am glad this finally worked out.”

Dean leaned down to give him a long kiss hello. He felt more relaxed when he pulled back and gave Cas a little hum in agreement.

“You ready?” Dean asked. At Cas’s nod, he gestured toward the park. “I uh, made reservations,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Place is about twenty minutes from here so I figured… we could walk? Unless…uh, I mean, if you want. Or we can take a cab.”

Dean just about bit down on his tongue to stop himself from rambling on. He looked at Cas a little lost, waiting to see what he decided.

“A walk sounds nice,” Castiel replied.

“Oh. Ah, good. It’s um…this way.” Dean pointed and turned to lead the way, hiding the blush quickly rising on his face. He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive this date.

Then he remembered what Sam said. Being nervous was normal. He tried to accept that and just roll with it.

They made their way through the park, Dean following the little blip on his phone telling him where to go. Castiel noticed but didn’t try to see their destination, content to stroll quietly beside Dean. After a few minutes he felt Cas’s knuckles bump against his. Dean’s jerked his hand back and was about to shove it in his jacket pocket when suddenly Castiel slipped his hand into Dean’s and grasped it gently.

Castiel turned his head and smiled up at him. Dean just stared back in wonder. Castiel was beautiful when he smiled like this—all soft and warm and like he was the only person on the planet. Dean felt his heart speed up a bit at that look, felt warmth bloom in his chest and rush up his neck.

“Uh, just so you know,” Dean said abruptly, “This isn’t like a—a n-normal date. I just—I thought it might be nice to …I dunno, enjoy the nice weather while it lasts.”

Castiel’s gentle smile grew a little wider.

“I’m sure whatever you have planned will be wonderful, Dean,” he said softly. His voice always picked up another layer of gravel when it dipped that low, and it sent a thrilling zing up Dean’s spine.

Dean let out a nervous laugh. They continued walking in amiable silence, Dean’s focus almost exclusively on the hand gripped in his. His mind drifted to their kiss yesterday in the park, then to the moment they’d shared in the belfry. With a jolt he realized what was happening. Suddenly his palm felt sticky and he pulled it away from Cas to wipe it on his thigh.

“Sorry, I’m a…a little nervous,” Dean said, slipping his hand back into Castiel’s waiting one.

Cas let out a little puff of laughter out through his nose and smiled.

“You are like a jittery teenager,” he teased, glancing at Dean in amusement.

“Yeah? So what if I am?” Dean said. His face burned, and he felt the need to defend himself. “You’re telling me you ain’t nervous, like at all?”

Castiel shook his head.

“No. Excited…perhaps. But not nervous.”

“Great,” Dean grunted. “Sammy, that asshole. Friggin’ lied to me, said this was normal.”

Castiel chuckled at that. Then, noticing the pained look on Dean’s face, he offered Dean a comforting smile.

“Dean, there is no right or wrong way to feel,” Castiel said gently, “And to say I’m not nervous now doesn’t mean I am never nervous around you.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, instantly curious, “So when _do_ you get nervous?”

Castiel blushed a little and averted his eyes.

“When you…w-when you kiss me,” he replied. He let out a huff of air through his nose, sounding frustrated with himself. “And apparently when I’m thinking about it,” he added.

Dean stopped walking at that.

“Huh.” He stared at Cas, who blushed deeper but kept eye contact. “That’s funny,” he said.

Castiel shifted his weight and looked at him uneasily.

“What is?” he pressed.

“Just…when I kiss you—” Here Dean blushed and looked down. “I—I never feel nervous. Just…I dunno, relaxed.”

Castiel’s eyes flickered away from him. “That is because touch comes naturally to you,” he said, “It is what you know. Whereas I am more comfortable connecting on an emotional level.” His eyes flickered back to Dean’s. “There is more than one language of love,” Castiel explained, “Each of us has our strengths and weaknesses.”

Dean felt his heart stutter to a halt when Cas mentioned the ‘ _L_ ’ word. It pounded against his chest, making it that much more difficult to draw a breath.

“R-ri-right,” Dean forced out, “Good to know.” He gulped, laughing nervously. “Thanks for tip, Dr. Phil,” he teased.

Castiel smiled a little shyly at that. They continued walking toward their destination.

“Cas?” Dean asked a minute later, breaking the silence.

Castiel hummed in response, looking up at him.

“Is what you said about l-lo— _aheh_ —what you just said…true?” Dean asked, dipping his head in embarrassment.

Cas was quiet for a moment, thinking it over.

“I believe there is some substance to the theory,” he replied seriously, “There is a very well-known psychologist who swears by it. I have read his work, and I must say much of what he describes does ring true. However…”

Here Castiel glanced sideways at Dean.

“I think it is more of a testimony of our capacity to love, not in how we show it,” he said. “I believe that when our hearts are open we express it easily, without thought. And when our… _partner_ …is open to receiving our love, he does so naturally.”

“W-w-well, I—” Dean cleared his throat and started again. “You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought,” he said.

“I have given it nothing _but_ thought for the last eight years,” Castiel replied quietly.

Dean’s head swiveled to look at him, surprised by the edge of bitterness in his voice, but Cas’s gaze was cast away to the side, staring off into the bushes. The memory of what Castiel had told him the other day floated to the surface of his mind. His ex—Balthazar. What exactly had happened between them for Cas to still be so hung up on it after so many years?

“Sorry,” Dean said, though he didn’t know why he felt the need to apologize.

Castiel snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at him.

“No, I am the one who should apologize,” Cas said. “I should not have brought it up.”

“I’m glad you did,” Dean told him. He gave Cas a small, wry smile. “I mean, if we can’t talk about shit that’s real, then what have we got, right?”

Castiel blushed a little at that and offered Dean an uneasy smile in return.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” he agreed.

They continued walking.

“Cas?” Dean asked after a minute.

“Hmm?” Castiel looked up at him again.

“Um, can I…can I kiss you?” Dean asked.

They stopped again. Castiel’s brow pinched together.

“Why are you asking me?” He seemed confused. “You never did so before.”

“Maybe I should have,” Dean said quickly. He gave half a shrug. “Or, I dunno. What you just said…maybe it changes things.”

A subtle smile spread across Castiel’s face.

“Dean, you may kiss me whenever you like,” he replied. He paused as something occurred to him. “Within reason,” he amended.

“Heh,” Dean laughed, “Good call.”

He tugged Cas closer to him and planted one on his lips. He opened his mouth, breathing in and then slid his tongue between Castiel’s lips.

For the first time when he pulled back, Dean noticed the subtle changes in the man. Cas’s breathing was shaky, his body tense. Dean just felt calm. He brought a hand up to Castiel’s face, traced his wet bottom lip with his thumb.

“Cas,” he said softly. Castiel’s eyes flickered up to his. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” he said.

Cas gave him a little nod, but if anything he seemed more agitated. Dean felt it was due to his proximity, but somehow knew moving away wouldn’t fix whatever had stayed with him all these years.

“Hey,” Dean called softly. He brought his hand to the side of Cas’s face and held it there. “I wasn’t going to ask this just yet, but there’s this party my family throws every year for Halloween—the ‘Winchester Monster Mash’. We’re holding it in New York this year,” he explained, “At The Plaza. I was gonna ask…if you wanted to come with me. As my…as my date.”

Dean blushed a little, but kept eye contact.

“Halloween,” Castiel repeated. “That’s two weeks from now.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, grinning lopsidedly at him. “I know.”

Castiel drew a steadied breath in through his nose and then let it out slowly. Then he smiled.

“I would love to go with you, Dean,” he said.

Cas hesitated, then reached up to press his lips to Dean’s. When he pulled back there was a new light in those sapphire-blue eyes.

They made it to their designated destination much later than Dean had anticipated, though it wouldn’t disrupt their plans. The sun was starting to set, throwing golden light and long shadows across their path, but there was still enough daylight left for what he had in mind.

The Loeb Boathouse rose up from across the lake as he turned them toward it.

“Is this where we are eating?” Castiel asked, noting the change in direction. He was familiar with this place, if the rise of his eyebrows had anything to say about it.

“Uh, not exactly,” Dean said. He glanced over at Cas. “Remember I said this isn’t your typical date?”

Castiel snorted a little.

“Yes, I remember. Are you going to tell me why we are here then?” he asked.

“Nope,” Dean said. He grinned at the man and tugged on his hand. “Come on.”

There was a boat waiting for them when they arrived at the rental place. The dock attendant pointed the way.

“When you said you had reservations, this isn’t what I imagined,” Castiel said as they climbed into the small rowboat.

Dean grinned. “Oh, well, this isn’t really the reservation part,” he said, “I mean, I guess technically it’s part of it.”

Castiel’s eyebrows pinched together. Dean could see the cogs turning in his mind as he tried to figure it out. Finally, he shook his head.

“Very well, Dean, I am left in your capable hands,” he said. There was an amused smile on his face and a light in his eyes when he said it.

Dean couldn’t help but grin back. He grabbed the oars and gave them a sweeping row as the dock attendant shoved them the rest of the way into the water.

The setting sun cast long, lazy golden rays across the surface of the water as they rowed across it—Dean as their Captain, Castiel sitting calmly and looking out at the soft shimmering effect. The wind of the day had died down and the tourists had all since vacated the waters in favor of food and drinks at the main boathouse. Dean rowed slowly, strong arms pushing the oars forward and then back in a steady, hypnotic sweep. The water was calm, and the wake of the small boat broke gently behind them. An autumn chill fell in the air around them like a soft breath—caressing, nudging. A dragonfly found them and buzzed around erratically, finally settling down on the rim of the boat. Castiel watched it with a soft smile on his face, relaxed and at peace. Dean watched him, a similar expression mirrored on his own.

Then Cas looked up and Dean felt a smile break out across his face automatically—cause, and effect.

He set the oars down across the boat and let them drift. They were out in the middle of the lake by now, far away from anywhere else. Dean stood in a crouch and stepped over the oars, sitting down on the middle bench.

He sat down perhaps a little too heavily, rocking the small boat. Castiel’s hands flew to the sides in alarm, clinging to the worn wood.

“Dean!”

Dean just laughed and gripped the sides himself, attempting to steady the boat.

“Sorry, not used to this,” he said, biting his lip. Castiel’s eyes flickered to his mouth.

Dean slipped off the bench to where he was kneeling on the wooden bottom of the boat. He scooted closer to Cas, stopping only when he was right between the other man’s legs. His knees protested against the creaking wood, but he ignored them.

Dean took Castiel’s hands in his and reached up to capture his bottom lip.

Cas leaned forward, meeting him in the middle as Dean pressed against him, drawing his mouth slowly open with drag of his lips and a soft exhale. He licked across Castiel’s bottom lip and then dipped inside, running it along Cas’s tongue, tasting the musk of his arousal. He breathed in, drawing in the smell of him, the sharp tang of sweat and heat that rose up from under his long tan coat.

Dean slipped his hands inside of it and pulled him closer, pulled him off the bench and onto the bottom of the boat. Cas made a small muffled _“mmph!”_ sound in alarm as he tumbled off the bench and into Dean’s strong embrace. One hand gripped the side of the boat, the other on Dean’s left shoulder, palm and fingers splayed and curved around it.

Dean broke the kiss to nose into his neck, placing lips and tongue to the crook under his coat’s collar, drawing a gasp from Castiel. The man arched a little, arms flying around Dean to press into his back. Dean placed another kiss under his ear and Castiel’s hips rolled forward, head tilting up as he moaned softly—a breathy, airy thing that had Dean’s blood thrumming under his skin.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed, voice low and husky in arousal. He squirmed under Dean’s lips, panting at the tongue slowly trailing down his neck. “Dean, this isn’t— _ahh_ —please, it’s too public,” Castiel pleaded. Dean hummed, smiling against his skin. He pressed one last, slow kiss to the crook of his neck and then pulled back. He rested his forehead against Castiel’s, noting the color in his eyes had deepened, as if the blue waters of the lake had melted into them.

“I guess this is one of those ‘within reason’ moments,” Dean murmured playfully. He pressed a chaste kiss to Cas’s lips, grinning to himself as Castiel leaned forward when he pulled back and let him go.

Dean slid his ass back up on the seat with a creak of his knees.

“Jesus, I’m getting too old for this shit,” he said. He retreated back to his Captain’s seat, careful not to rock the boat this time, and took up the oars again. Castiel very carefully pushed himself up and onto the seat behind him, still looking exquisitely undone from their kiss.

The sun was just about gone from the sky, its last rays splayed out behind the tall skyscrapers that bordered the park. It glinted off the reflective windows, alerting Dean to the time.

“Guess we’d better get this party boat going before we get stuck out here in the dark,” Dean said with a grin.

Castiel was still breathing a little heavily from his previous attentions. He stared at Dean, mouth open, then offered up a little smile.

“Still not telling me where we are going?” he asked, teasing.

“Hell no. The surprise is half the fun,” Dean replied with a smirk. He gave the oars a long pull to get them going in the right direction, guided this time by a light across the water. He refrained from looking directly at it, just in case Cas were to see where they were headed.

As they passed under the Bow Bridge, Castiel gasped softly, looking up at its worn stone underside. Dean stopped rowing long enough so that they drifted under it slowly. He tilted his head back and admired the lattice structure underneath and the intricate swirls in the corners of its arch.

“Dean, it is beautiful,” Castiel whispered.

It was like passing into a different world. The sun had set fully, twilight hovering around them like a thin blanket. Dean pulled the oars again, turning toward the small glow of fairy lights that marked their destination.

Castiel noticed the direction of his eyes this time and turned to see for himself. Dean didn’t mind so much—they were almost there, and the rest of the surprise would still be hidden from view.

“Is that where we’re—” Castiel cut off and twisted back to face Dean. “Just what have you planned?” he asked, a curious edge to his voice.

Dean chuckled lightly.

“Nice try, man. I’m still not givin’ up the goods.” His voice was lighter than it normally was, playful, at ease. Dean couldn’t remember feeling this way before.

They bumped the edge of the dock and Dean reached out to grab the foam buoy dangling from its side. Castiel stood, also reaching—

The boat rocked dangerously. Dean let go of the dock instinctively and planted his boot on the opposite edge of the boat before it could flip. Cas cried out in alarm, stumbling, arms pin-wheeling backward as he fought to keep his balance. The boat swayed to the opposite side and his foot slipped against the rough wood, sending him tumbling backward—

Dean caught him under the arms with a breathless _“Oof_ ,” and they collapsed to the floor of the boat, Castiel slumped against his chest, both of them bruised but still miraculously upright.

Dean couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, large heaving whoops that left him breathless and his sides burning. He buried his face in Cas’s shoulder and cackled so hard his eyes teared up.

Castiel’s own sense of humor was on a bit of a delay. He let out a low, slow huff of laughter, like an old car turning over. The second laugh came out easier, a relieved exhale.

“I think I can safely assume I would never be fit to join the Navy,” Castiel joked.

Dean let out a few lingering chuckles.

“I wasn’t laughing at that,” he said. He giggled again, not at all in a manly way. “Just…we’re like a bad chick flick with the whole sunset boat ride and then toppling into e-each other’s a-arms—” Dean broke off into another bout of sniggers, barely managing to finish the sentence.

Cas let out another huff of laughter.

“Yes, I suppose we are,” he agreed. His voice grew serious. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I should be asking you that,” Dean said, lifting him up a little. Cas very carefully leaned forward and grabbed for the middle bench. “I’m fine. Might have a few bruises tomorrow but…eh, well, they can be like…battle scars. How ‘bout you? Are you okay?”

“I…I think so,” Castiel said. He sat down heavily on the seat and patted himself down. “Nothing seems broken.”

“You’d know if it was,” Dean said. “Broke my leg once. Sonofabitch burned like…like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Well…” Castiel said, “We can count ourselves lucky we didn’t end up in the lake at least.”

“Yeah, I think that might have ruined the mood,” Dean agreed. He tried not to linger on what Castiel would look like dripping wet, and only partially succeeded.

They’d drifted a little and lost one of the oars. Dean found it floating a few feet away and rowed carefully toward it, grabbing it and then heading back to shore. This time Cas didn’t try to help when he made a grab for the dock, and Dean made sure he had a firm grip before he nodded to Cas that it was okay to disembark.

Cas climbed out and held the side for him as Dean clambered ashore. He felt blindly for the rope he knew must be there, then, fingers finding it he tied the boat to the dock and straightened.

When he turned around, Castiel was admiring the fairy lights decorating the small pavilion that stood at the edge of the water. They had been strung up along its edges and then crisscrossed underneath so that the whole space was bathed in soft, yellow light.

“It is beautiful,” Castiel breathed, head tilted up. He hadn’t seen the table yet. His gaze lowered and he gasped. “Oh, Dean!”

A smile broke across Dean’s face as Castiel’s whole face lit up. The man surged forward, coming to a stop just short of the table set in the middle of the small pavilion. Two benches were built into its sides, the space between them providing enough room for one small round patio table. A deep blue tablecloth had been spread over it with white place settings, wine goblets and _actual_ _silver_ ware. A bottle of _pinot noir_ was already open and decanting, wrapped in a white napkin. In the middle of the table was a thin crystal vase holding a single red rose. It was this that had caught Castiel’s eye.

“You…you remembered…” Castiel reached out and plucked the rose from its vase, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. For a long moment he merely stared down at it in wonder. Then he slowly brought the rose up to his nose and buried it there, taking a long, deep whiff of the ephemeral ruby scent. Castiel’s eyes rose to his, soft and twinkling in the fairy lights like a starry sky, chin still dipped down toward the flower so that he looked at Dean from underneath neat brown eyebrows and a frock of half-mussed tendrils of hair.

“Do you like it?” Dean asked, moving closer to him.

“It’s perfect,” Castiel said, voice thick and husky with emotion. He was clearly moved by the gesture. “Thank you, Dean. This is…this is more than I ever—” he broke off, blushed, started again. “It is lovely. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” Dean said, “Cuz it’s not really my thing but Marcin said you were a romantic and then his story—”

“About giving his future wife a rose for three years,” Cas continued for him, smiling warmly, “Yes, I do love that story. The fact you picked up on that and…decided to use it tonight means…more to me than I can say in words.”

Cas looked up at him again, and the smile on his face melted away any lingering nervous tension stuffed into the center of Dean’s chest. He hadn’t been sure how Castiel would receive this whole romantic dinner-by-the-lake thing. He had worried it would be too much for a first date.

Dean let his breath out in a whirlwind, then stepped closer and slid a hand from Cas’s shoulder to his elbow. Cas was looking up at him with eyes so blue it hurt. Then he very gently tugged Dean closer and leaned in to kiss him.

Slow, careful, attentive, sweet—that’s what the kiss was. Like Dean was sliding into Cas rather than gathering him up. Dean’s hand was suddenly at the side of his face, gripping him closer as he tried his best not to fall headlong between those soft, pale lips.

Castiel breathed heavily when they broke apart, eyes cast down to Dean’s lips as he caught his breath. Dean felt as though each of his crashed down into his chest.

“We should eat before it gets cold,” Dean murmured softly. He gestured to the large warming bag left on one of the wooden benches. “They told me it would keep for a couple of hours, but…I dunno if I believe that. Come on.”

Dean squeezed Cas’s elbow, leading him to the far bench and taking the rose from his hand. This he placed back into its vase. Then he whipped out the napkin for Cas and spread it lightly over his lap.

Castiel hummed, running his fingers over the silky white fabric.

“I could get used to this level of service,” he said in a low, gravelly voice.

Dean gulped a little, then hid his nerves with a flirty smile.

“Oh I’ll show you service, just you wait,” he said, the undercurrent of sexual innuendo anything but subtle.

Castiel’s eyes jerked up to his, wide and alarmed, but also—if Dean knew anything about the male species—more than a little aroused.

He smiled smugly to himself and moved for the warmer of food. He unzipped it and pulled out two plates with covers, setting one in front of Cas and the other at his own setting. With a grin he whipped off the cover to Cas’s meal.

“ _Bon appetit_ , _mon petite chou_ ,” he said, sweeping into a bow.

“I am not a little cabbage,” Castiel rushed to point out. There was a definite blush to his cheeks though, visible despite the dim lighting.

“No, you’re right. You’re more of a _petite canardeau,_ ” Dean replied with a grin.

Castiel shifted in his seat.

“I…did not realize you spoke French,” he said, looking down at his plate.

Dean sat down and pulled off the cover to his own meal.

“I spent some time in _Paris_ after I dropped out of college,” he said. “I uh, picked up a few things. French chicks, man,” he said, then stopped. “Uh, I mean... Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s quite alright, Dean, I know the general history of your…adventures, as we will call them.” Castiel’s eyes were lowered to the table, but he sounded amused, not angry. “It is part of your history…part of what brought you to this moment. I wouldn’t want that to change.”

Dean stared at him, frozen in the moment. Then he gave a little, “Huh,” and blushed.

“…if only so that you may call me a _little duckling_ in French,” Castiel added with a prominent blush.

Dean laughed at that.

Castiel’s attention turned to his meal for the first time. A plump medallion of filet mignon sat centered in the middle of the plate on a pillow of saffron risotto, au jus creating a moat around its edges. Three sprigs of crisp green asparagus made a bridge over the meat. It was drizzled with a white lemon-garlic aioli and sprinkled with flakes of fresh parsley and cracked pepper.

“This looks wonderful,” Castiel said, looking down at it. His eyes flickered up to Dean’s. “Do you mind terribly if I…say Grace?”

Dean was a little surprised, but shook his head nonetheless. He reached out to take Castiel’s hand in his.

_“For food in a world where many walk in hunger, for faith in a world where many walk in fear, for friends in a world where many walk alone, we give thanks for all the blessings at this table and in our lives. Amen.”_

“ _Amen_ ,” Dean murmured in echo. “Cas, that was…beautiful,” he said softly.

Castiel fidgeted with his silverware before picking up his fork.

“I know you are not religious,” Castiel said, sounding apologetic.

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean said. “I kinda like it. And after what you told me the other day…you’ve got a lot to be thankful for.” He paused. “And so do I.”

Castiel smiled a little bashfully at that.

“Thank you, Dean, that is… sweet of you to say.”

He blushed harder and ducked his head, and Dean wondered if it were at all possible for his smile to get stuck on his face.

“Oh shit! I forgot the rolls!” Dean stooped down to the warming bag and came out with a covered bowl of fresh, warm rolls and butter. He poured them both a glass of wine, then sat down to enjoy his meal.

They ate mostly in silence, enjoying the sounds of crickets in the bushes and the occasional croak of a bullfrog. The butter turned out to be swirled with cinnamon sugar, and Dean whooped in excitement, eating three rolls before realizing he perhaps ought to enjoy his _actual_ meal as well. Castiel ate slowly, meticulously neat, chewing each bite to completion before going for more. His eating style was systematic—a bite of steak, a bite of risotto, a bite of asparagus—whereas Dean dug in wholeheartedly; whatever ended up on his fork ended up in his mouth, shoveled in with little regard to his table manners. Castiel snorted as he watched, horrified, and pointed out the irony that though _Dean_ was the ‘prince’ in this dynamic, he ate like a pauper, and vice versa. Dean snorted back and shoveled in another bite, saying he was rich enough to not have to give a shit about that kind of stuff.

The food disappeared—fast in Dean’s case, slower for Castiel—and the wine dwindled to the bottom of the bottle. Dean pulled another out from behind the bench and uncorked it with the opener in the food warming bag, setting it open on the table to decant. This one was a _Syrah_ , and would pair well with what was to come.

When Castiel was done eating (Dean had finished ages ago and two more rolls in the meantime), Dean placed their dirty plates in the bag and came out with two smaller saucers of dessert. This time when he whipped off the covers, he revealed a neat rectangle of chocolate torte, layered in dark chocolate mousse and rich cocoa powder. The cake, he had been told, was flourless but nonetheless mouthwateringly delicious.

“ _Oooh._ Oh, Dean, this is amazing,” Castiel groaned after taking his first bite of cake. He stared down at it in wonder. “I did not think cake could taste like that.”

Dean had to concur. If it wasn’t made with flour, then there had to be fairy dust or magic or _something_ else crammed in to make it so light and yet rich at the same time.

“Glad you like it,” he said, grinning around his own mouthful of chocolate-y goodness.

They ate again in silence, the minutes ticking by marked only by the quickly dwindling level of the wine. When they were done with dessert, Dean gathered the dirty dishes together and placed them back in the warming bag. Then he sat down with the remainder of his wine next to Cas on the small bench, looping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close to beat the late-night chill in the air.

Castiel hummed and snuggled closer into his side, eyes closing. Dean watched the shadow of his hair fall over his face, the glow of the fairy-lights reflecting off his skin. God, he was beautiful. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone so beautiful before.

He pressed his lips to Cas’s temple, a whisper of a kiss. Castiel hummed again and his eyes fluttered open. They drooped sleepily, staring at Dean’s lips, then flickered up to his eyes. He leaned in, pressing his mouth against Dean’s.

Dean’s opened willingly, automatically. He liked it when Cas kissed him. Sure, he liked kissing Cas, but when it was the other way around…it felt different. Special, somehow. Like it meant more when it was on Cas’s own terms. Like he wasn’t just going along with Dean’s greedy advances but…like, he _wanted_ him. God, it felt _good_ to feel wanted like that.

Dean pulled him closer, until Castiel was practically in his lap, long, graceful fingers entwined in his shirts. Dean’s was at his back, under his coat, enveloped by his warmth, by his _scent_. He smelled like balsam fir and cloves and something minty. Wintergreen? Possibly. Dean wondered what _he_ smelled like. Probably whiskey and leather. Maybe a little like BO. He’d been nervous earlier. He hoped it wasn’t too bad.

They kissed slow, lazy, taking each other in and learning the rhythm of the spaces between their breaths. Tongues reaching, searching, exploring—delving inward, licking, and flicking. Hands groping, grasping, tugging at cloth. Their bodies shifted in silent conversation, pressing against one another and pulling closer.

When they finally broke apart, Dean could hear the faint chimes of St. Patrick’s ringing the late hour.

“I have work early,” Castiel murmured. He made no move to leave, though, or to pull away. He merely continued to stare at Dean’s lips. He pressed forward, capturing them again.

The next time they disentangled from one another, Dean was dizzy and the bells were ringing again.

Wordlessly, he rose to his feet, pulling Castiel with him by his elbows.

“What about the mess?” Castiel asked. He nodded to the warming bag and the empty wine bottles littering the table. He turned back to Dean. “And the boat?”

“The restaurant said they’d take care of it,” Dean answered. He threaded his fingers through Cas’s and gripped his hand tight. They started to walk away when Castiel gave a light gasp.

“Wait.”

He dropped Dean’s hand and rushed back to the table. Dean wondered what he was doing until Cas plucked his rose from its vase. He stared down at it, the ghost of a smile spread across his face. When he looked back up at Dean, his cheeks were warm and rosy. Dean didn’t think it had anything to do with the amount of wine they’d drunk.

Dean held out his hand as Cas returned to him, the flower pinched protectively between his fingers.

“Come on, we’d better get you home before you turn into a pumpkin,” he teased.

Cas snorted at the reference.

“Is that how you see me?” he asked, “Like a princess in need of rescuing?”

Dean grinned.

“Naw,” he said, shaking his head. “If anything, I’m the one who needs saving.” He paused. “I’m like…sleeping beauty, if she was cursed to sleep around instead of just sleep and…” Dean trailed off. “Shit, nevermind. It’s a stupid analogy.”

Castiel chuckled.

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” He was quiet for a minute, thinking. “So, am I the Prince who wakes you with a kiss?”

Dean let a breath out through his nose—a fast huff of air. He was glad it was dark. He was blushing so hard his cheeks hurt.

“I guess,” he said.

Castiel hummed.

“True love’s kiss…?” the man asked, teasing.

“Shut up,” Dean said quickly. He growled, dissatisfied. He hadn’t meant to sound so…so sappy. But that was what happened when he drank near a bottle of wine by himself. He hoped Castiel was drunk enough so that he wouldn’t remember this in the morning, or if he did that he would shrug it off as a joke.

Castiel tugged at his coat sleeve.

“Dean,” he said, coming to a halt. Dean turned back to look at him, face pale in the dim lamplight of the park. Castiel opened his mouth like he was going to say something more, but then decided against it. Instead he tugged Dean down to meet his lips, ruby with the heady taste of wine and chocolate torte. Dean felt the petals of the rose brush his cheek as Cas looped an arm around his neck.

They made out in the lamplight for…Dean wasn’t sure how long. Only that when he pulled away his embarrassment was forgotten and there was a new chill in the air. The autumn night had entered in earnest, the crisp October air seeping through his layers of shirts. He shivered, cold tingling up his back.

Castiel hooked his arm through Dean’s, pressing close to him to share body heat as they continued walking. They were almost out of the park. Dean could hear the blare of car horns and the faint wail of sirens in the distance. As they passed under the park gates, the city opened around them, loud and jarring—ostentatious. Full of life. And here they were, just another pair of lives intersecting…two pieces of a puzzle joining to create a larger picture.

Falling in place together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: 
> 
> I am SO FRIGGIN EXCITED to be posting this chapter. It's one of my favorites. The schmoop....aaaaahhh it was so _satisfying_ to write. Makes me all warm and tingly inside. ^__^
> 
> **ANNOUNCEMENT:** Here's the deal folks-- I'm an extra chapter out from the Winchester Monster Mash, so y'all are going to get extra-long chapters from now until the Friday before Halloween, and then I'll be posting a bonus chapter (Chapter 13!!!) on the day itself. Happy early Halloween!!! 
> 
> ALSO if anyone would like to **design a graphic** for this fic, I am prepared to ship you a **custom-made gift** from the story. Drop me a line in the comments if you are interested. :D
> 
> Click [HERE](https://regaime.livejournal.com/68790.html) for extra special Bonus Content!!


	10. Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas break in Dean’s new apartment... Jackie Chan style. Spoiler: the Lo Mein goes everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: Any food preferences/opinions mentioned in this chapter are not my own and are written to keep character.**

* * *

It was a big day for Dean. Actually, there had been a slew of them recently. The meeting with Mr. Chen, the date with Cas, and now _this_. Dean’s very own apartment. Yeah, okay, he’d had others. But not like this. None that mattered like this one. This wasn’t just an apartment, it was a _home_. Or at least, that’s what Dean wanted it to be.

With his father’s approval, the closing had gone smoothly. Papers were signed, back taxes paid, money changed hands. Technically the apartment was in his dad’s company’s name, but that was just for the tax break at the end of the year. It was his in every way that mattered.

Dean picked the keys up at ten o’clock sharp and headed over to get the place ready. Cas had the night off and had promised to spend it with him, and Dean was planning on inviting him over so he wanted to make sure it looked good. Thankfully there wasn’t much for him to do. The apartment came furnished to his specifications and the new housekeeper had already stopped by earlier with the essentials: food, paper goods, DVDs…Dean had sent her a list. He spent the first hour or so exploring his new pad and learning where Christine had stashed everything. He spent a good number of minutes familiarizing himself with his home office and a few more checking out the workout room.

Dean wandered back to the master bedroom and threw down on the _ridiculously_ large California king and spread out his arms. He felt like a shipwrecked sailor on a deserted island of downy pillows surrounded by a duvet-covered ocean. Was this what it was like having a home?

Dean sighed and looked up at the ceiling. It was actually kind of boring being here by himself. There wasn’t anything for him to do.

Well, there were always things to do. For one he needed to arrange for some of his things to get shipped over from California. And he should call Sam, tell him how the date went. And he still needed to grab his stuff from the hotel… 

Dean was rolling off the bed and rushing down the hallway to the elevator before he realized the reason for his haste.

The new apartment was great, but everything he wanted was still at The Plaza.

Dean made a mental note on his way to the hotel of all the things he would need from their house in California and a few more things he needed to pick up around the city—things he wasn’t comfortable leaving to the housekeeper. Then he promptly forgot all of it when he stepped through the doors. Castiel was standing by the front desk, white gloves crossed in front of him in a decorous, professional manner, his red bellboy coat standing out against the cream-colored marble of the hotel lobby.

His face brightened when he saw Dean.

“Dean,” he greeted. The smile lifting at the corners of his mouth was subtle. He didn’t smile while on the job, Dean had noticed. He for the most part kept his face arranged carefully blank, but for Dean there was always that secret smile. It was _his_. It was there just for him.

“Cas,” Dean replied.

He stopped a couple feet away, despite the near physical itch to be closer to him. Uriel had been understanding of them, and regardless of the fact that as of today Dean was no longer a guest, he wanted to make sure things stayed that way for Cas’s sake.

“How goes it?” Dean asked him.

The secret smile tugged upward slightly.

“Good, though things have been slow. Not much is happening today.”

“When do you get off?” Dean asked. He tried not to sound too eager. Castiel’s eyes twinkled knowingly and Dean swallowed, caught.

“My shift ends at seven tonight,” Castiel answered.

Dean grinned.

“Awesome,” he said. He fished out the thing he meant to show Cas. The keys to his new apartment dangled between his fingers as he beamed at the other man. “I just closed on the new place,” he announced, shaking the keys so that they jingled. “Wanted to know if…if you’d come over later, take the grand tour.”

This time the smile on Castiel’s face wasn’t hidden at all. It stretched across his face easily, bright and excited.

“I would love to see it,” he replied.

Dean grinned at him, unblinking. God. He felt like such a floosy whenever Cas smiled at him like that.

“Awesome,” he said again. The grin on his face turned sly. “Actually, I have need of your services.” Dean moved closer, giving in to the impulse to toy with the collar of Cas’s jacket. He was close enough to hear the slow exhale that Castiel let out through his nose.

“Is that so?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded. He felt the man’s pulse jump as the backs of his knuckles brushed against his neck.

“Yep. My stuff’s upstairs,” he said. He trailed his finger down the front of Cas’s jacket. “I could use some help lugging it down.”

“I am surprised,” Castiel replied. His eyes followed Dean’s hand down to where it stopped at the bottom edge of his coat, his fingers playing with the last shiny black button in the row. “I would think a strong man such as yourself wouldn’t need my help with something so trivial.”

“What can I say? I’m a lost cause,” Dean answered him flirtatiously.

The smile on Castiel’s face was bashful. He looked up to make sure Uriel was nowhere to be seen, then nodded and turned toward the elevators.

Being on one of the top floors certainly had its charms. Dean pulled Cas into a kiss as soon as they cleared the lower floors. The hand at the back of his neck brushed under the tall collar of his jacket, the starchy material making a scratching noise against the sleeve of Dean’s leather coat as he looped it around Cas’s back, holding the bellboy flush against him.

They broke apart when the elevator doors dinged open. Castiel was breathing heavily, lips pink and bruised by Dean’s administrations. Dean felt a thrill go through him. He’d wanted to do that since he and Cas had ridden the thing together that very first day.

It was a strange feeling, Dean thought. They’d met here barely over a week ago but it felt like a lot longer than that. So much had changed in such a short period of time it was threatening to give Dean whiplash.

Castiel moved down the hall, automatic and practiced at his job regardless of who the guest was. He opened the door for Dean, who mock-curtsied at him as he passed with a flirty, “Thanks, Ducky.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and mumbled something about Dean being ridiculous, but the furious blush on his face belied the effect Dean’s antics had on him.

“Dean? Is that you?”

The sound of his dad’s voice had Dean snapping out of the playful smile on his face. His head jerked up as his father entered from the living room. Castiel faded into the wall behind him, his professional mask sliding quickly into place as though he had just pulled an invisibility cloak over his head.

John waved at his son in greeting and then held up a finger telling Dean to hold on. There was a Bluetooth earpiece attached to his right ear. He seemed to be finishing up a call.

“Yes, I think that will do nicely, Mr. Elkins,” John said. He nodded once and then said his goodbyes, then touched the earpiece to end the call. “How’s the new place?” John asked once he’d fished the device off his ear.

“Good,” Dean replied. He shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, nervous as hell with Cas in the room and what they’d been doing just minutes before. He hadn’t expected his dad to be here. He was supposed to be out at a meeting, but it seemed his plans had changed since Dean last talked with him. “I’m just picking up my stuff,” Dean explained.

John raised an eyebrow in question. His eyes slid to Castiel, and he seemed to be asking himself why Dean had requested help with something so insignificant. It was completely unlike him, and Dean knew it. He swallowed hard and hoped his dad wouldn’t care enough to suspect anything was out of the ordinary.

“I would help but I’m late to a meeting,” John said. Dean let out a breath. Late meant his dad wouldn’t have time to linger. “Tell you what. I’ll bring over a couple six-packs later and we can watch the game together,” his father suggested, “Break in the new place.”

“Not tonight,” Dean blurted out. He gulped down hard, his mouth uncomfortably dry all of a sudden. His dad coming over wasn’t how he wanted to _break the place in._ Not by a long shot. Dean licked his lips and prepared himself for the lie about to roll off of them. “Place isn’t ready for...uh, company.”

“Didn’t Christine set everything up?” John asked. He seemed concerned. “If she isn’t doing her job, you should find someone to replace her.”

“What? No, Christine is great. The place looks great.” Dean winced, caught in the lie already. “I just…want a quiet evening to myself, that’s all.” 

His father grunted, figuring it out.

“You invited someone over already.”

Dean opened his mouth to deny it, but it must have been pretty obvious from the look on his face, because the next thing he knew his dad was smirking at him. Dean closed his mouth and cleared his throat.

“So…some other time?” Dean suggested.

John nodded. He clapped his son on the shoulder.

“You’re spending an awful lot of time with this girl,” John noted. “Just remember to show her a good time _outside_ the bedroom every now and then,” his father added with a wicked smile.

He seemed to have forgotten their conversation the day before entirely, or maybe the joke was meant to make him feel better? Dean honestly had no clue.

At Dean’s completely garbled response, however, the older man barked out in laugher. Dean’s eyes flickered briefly to Cas. The bellboy was doing his best to hide the blush that had flared up at John’s lewd comment. He scratched at his nose absently, looking away.

But Castiel was like a decoration in the ornate foyer, and John was paying him absolutely no mind. He patted Dean’s shoulder twice and then grabbed his briefcase from the chair by the door.

“I gotta run. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow,” John said, making his way to the door. Castiel opened it for him, and John glanced briefly at the bellboy, giving him a slight nod before exiting the room.

Dean let out his breath in a _whoosh_ as soon as the door closed behind him. Castiel visibly relaxed. The bellboy tugged at the collar of his jacket, and it occurred to Dean how suffocating the thing must be.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean cursed when he got his voice back. His father’s sudden interest in his love life was becoming unsettling.

“It is a good thing you are leaving here today,” Castiel said, coming up to him. The bellboy stopped just inches from Dean and placed a hand in the middle of his chest, an attempt at comforting him. Dean looked down at it, feeling more than a little off-balance by the conversation with his dad.

“I didn’t think he’d be here,” Dean blurted out. “And I sure as _hell_ didn’t think he’d want to see the new place. Really, what the fuck?”

He moved away and placed a hand to his brow. His father’s interference was destined to spell disaster for them.

“I could always come over another night if it would help,” Castiel suggested. Dean stopped his pacing and looked back at him, eyes wide and mouth slack.

“No way,” Dean said quickly. He moved back to where Castiel stood calmly, waiting for him to say more. Dean slid a hand down the sleeve of his jacket and grasped his hand lightly between his fingers. “I want you to be the first to see it,” Dean told the man quietly.

He didn’t say the next thing on his mind. He didn’t say it was because he’d gotten the apartment because of Cas—so that Dean could stay here with him, and _that_ was why Dean wanted him to be its first guest. He didn’t say he wanted Cas to be his _only_ guest at the new place, and he sure as hell didn’t say that he hoped it would become _their_ place someday, or that he’d chosen it with that in mind.

“Yes, alright,” Castiel replied.

He looked down to where Dean was holding his hand. Dean tilted his chin up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Castiel let out a long exhale when he moved back.

“We should collect your things,” he said in a low, gravelly voice. “Uriel will notice if I am gone for too long.”

“Everything’s packed,” Dean told him. His eyes trailed over the high ridge of Castiel’s cheekbones and the delicate curve of his lips. “You got five minutes, Cas?” he asked.

At Castiel’s hesitant nod, Dean pulled him by the hand into his room. He glanced back at all those fluffy hotel pillows, then back to his sexy bellboy. With a sudden impulse, he looped his arms around Castiel’s waist and spun them around, depositing him onto the feathery down paradise. Castiel let out a startled yelp and laughed as the mattress bounced under him. Dean pressed his lips to Cas’s mouth, dragging it open as the mattress settled under them, his hands gripping the sides of Castiel’s crisp red jacket.

“Dean,” Castiel said breathlessly when Dean moved to place a kiss at his neck. His head tilted back and he arched under Dean, letting out a small gurgle of pleasure as Dean pressed his lips at his jawline and then sucked at his Adam’s apple. It bobbed under him as Castiel fought to keep his train of thought. “Dean, we shouldn’t.”

“Finally got you on these pillows,” Dean murmured into his skin. He breathed out into the crook of Cas’s neck and felt the man shiver under him. He’d been fantasizing about this since he’d met the man and the absolutely _last_ thing he wanted to do was let him go without at least seeing how far he could get.

“I need to get back to work,” Castiel protested, though it was pretty weak in all fairness.

Dean leaned back and looked down at him. His hair was mussed, the careful comb-over utterly destroyed by Dean’s administrations. His skin was flushed right down to the base of his neck, the color blending into the vibrant red of his uniform. Dean ground his hips against the man’s front and found him hard. Castiel’s head tilted back again with a groan, his blue eyes flooded black in arousal.

Dean gripped him through his pants and stroked up his front, following the tight curve of his cock through the crisp, starched fabric. Castiel groaned again and squirmed under him, breath coming out in short little huffs.

_“Dean,”_ he pleaded in the lowest, most gravel-lined voice yet. Dean could feel it reverberate through his chest.

“You want some help there, Cas, all you gotta do is ask,” Dean said, grinning down at him.

“N- _no_ ,” Castiel panted, “Dean, now is not a good time.” His brow pitched together suddenly and he shifted under Dean, pushing at him to get up—and Dean had to say he was impressed by the man’s self-control.

Dean eased back onto his heels and hung his head back with an emphatic groan. He was still straddling Cas, and now looked down at him with a practically predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Damn it. One of these days I’m going to have you on these pillows,” Dean promised him. Castiel arched up under him at that sentiment.

“I do not understand your obsession with the hotel pillows,” he said, flushing.

Dean just grinned at him and climbed off his lap.

“You give me more than five minutes, I’ll show you,” he replied. That brought the loveliest shade of pink to his face, if Dean had anything to say about it.

It took pretty much all his willpower to roll off the bed and away from Castiel at that point. Cas sat up slowly and swung his legs over the side of the bed, shoes touching the ground in a careful, almost clinical manner. His face pinched together as he rearranged himself and then pushed to his feet. Then he straightened his jacket and moved to grab Dean’s bags by the door.

Dean followed him reluctantly out to the foyer, trailing behind Cas with a growing sense of worry. This hadn’t been the first time that Cas had stopped him from going any further…

“Dean?” Castiel was looking at him as though he was expecting an answer.

“Huh? What?” Dean said.

“I asked if you had everything,” Castiel repeated.

“Oh, um…yeah, I think so,” Dean replied. He forced a smile on his face and dropped a kiss on those adorably puckered lips. “On second thought, I forgot something in the bedroom,” he said cheekily when he pulled back. He wiggled his eyebrows.

Castiel snorted at his weak attempt to lure him back to bed.

“Is that where you left your dignity?” Castiel asked him dryly. Dean laughed and felt his worry wane away. If Cas could joke about it, then maybe Dean was reading too much into this.

“Maybe that’s where I left the _pillows_ ,” Dean replied lightly. He ran a hand through Castiel’s mussed hair and laughed when the man swatted his hand away, complaining and attempting to fix it. Dean helped, but only so that he could continue running his fingers through the soft brown strands of Cas’s hair. He hummed.

“What’dya think, Cas? Maybe if we sneak them out the back, no one will notice they’re gone,” Dean said.

“The housekeepers count the pillows,” Castiel informed him, stepping through the door Dean opened for him, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you are not the first guest who has considered walking away with hotel property.”

Dean scrunched up his face, disappointed, then shrugged.

“So maybe I’ll buy ‘em instead,” he said. He grinned at Cas, eyes bright with his excitement. _Yes_ , he was _so_ doing that.

Dean followed Cas back to the elevators. He felt a little strange that the man was carrying his stuff for him, despite knowing they needed to keep up appearances. That would all change after today.

The elevator arrived and Dean felt a wicked grin slide across his face as they entered. The emergency stop button practically _gleamed_ in the faded florescent lighting of the elevator. Seeing as this was Dean’s last day at the hotel, it was only fair he go out with a bang…

He pressed it and pulled Castiel into his arms. The elevator lurched to a stop and Dean’s bags dropped to the small cubical of tile under them. Castiel gasped in his arms, eyes seeking Dean’s. Dean said nothing, just leaned in to kiss him.

Long minutes passed in the small, enclosed space. Long enough that Castiel began to worry that someone might notice one of the elevators wasn’t working. He reluctantly pulled away from Dean and hit the button to restart it.

Ten floors down, an older woman entered the lift. She glanced at the two of them briefly, then turned around and stood stoically in front of them. Castiel’s face was glowing a deep red, Dean noticed with satisfaction. They’d jumped apart when the doors opened, and his lips were still moist from their kiss. They glistened pink in the bright florescent lighting.

Uriel was waiting behind the check-in counter when they entered the lobby, Castiel carrying Dean’s bags and walking behind him in a way where no one would suspect what they’d been up to. Dean caught the manager glancing down at his watch. It seemed they hadn’t been as subtle as they’d thought.

_Aww, hell_.

Dean strode up to him with a brazen grin plastered across his face. He couldn’t resist pushing the line a little. Served Uriel right for all the trouble he’d caused them. Dean was still more than a little bitter.

“’Sup Chuckles,” Dean greeted. He slapped his key cards on the desk. “Checking out.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Uriel’s eyes slid over to Castiel, who swallowed nervously under his calculating gaze. “Perhaps my employee will care to help our other guests now that you are leaving us,” he said dryly.

“Don’t worry,” Dean said with a wink, “I gave him a _big_ tip.”

“Dean,” Castiel warned from behind him. His eyes flickered to Uriel. “I assure you he’s joking,” Cas told him.

“Come on, Cas, you’re ruining it,” Dean whined.

Uriel merely took his keys and slotted them back into the stack they kept behind the desk.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Winchester,” the man said politely.

Dean smirked and moved away from the counter. Castiel followed him out to the curb with his bags, stopping by the car Dean had waiting for him. He handed them one by one to the driver, who loaded them into the trunk.

Dean stepped in close to him and picked at the collar of his shirt.

“I’ll see you later tonight,” he said. “I’ll uh, have the car swing by to pick you up when you get off. I mean… oh, you probably want to go home first.” Dean screwed up his face, kicking himself for assuming otherwise.

“Yes, I would like to change before meeting you,” Castiel said. His smile turned soft. “Why don’t you give me the address and I will…grab us dinner?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Dean rushed in to say. At the squint Cas shot him, he swallowed again. “Yeah, okay. Sounds good.”

Castiel’s smile morphed into something closer to a smirk.

“I will see you around eight,” he said.

Dean wanted very badly to kiss him, but resolved to make up for it later. He gave Cas’s hand a little squeeze instead and climbed into the car. He watched Castiel through the tinted windows as the car pulled away from the curb. The last thing he saw was Cas stooping to help an older couple with their luggage. He sighed and turned back toward the front of the car, letting his head fall back to the plush leather seat. Tonight felt like light-years away.

* * *

Dean divided the hours until Cas got off between working on the new branch launch and arranging for his belongings to be sent here from their home in California. He was going to have to ship his car over too—the thought of which physically pained him—but there was simply no way Dean could take a week off to road trip back to New York in his baby, and Sam had classes so _he_ couldn’t do it. Dean was just going to have to suck it up and hope nobody abused her on the tow over.

“Sammy, just—look, just make sure they strap her down right, okay?” Dean told his brother over the phone later that day. He was in his room, pacing back and forth and doing a good job of wearing in the floorboards of his new place. Sam was dropping off the car, and Dean was sure he was going to either pass out or puke. “Make sure she’s covered up properly and that the E-brake is on.” He ran a hand through his hair. “ _Christ_. I’m never going to survive this.”

Sam laughed loudly over the phone.

“Dean, it’s just a car. Chill the fuck out, dude,” his brother said.

“It’s not just a car,” Dean insisted. “Damnit, Sammy, if anything happens to Baby, it’s on you.”

“It’ll be fine, Dean,” Sam said. Dean could practically hear him rolling his eyes over the phone. “I’m paying the guy extra to be super, _super_ careful with it, okay? You’ve got nothing to worry about—I know what I’m doing.”

“Good,” Dean said, nodding over the phone. “Cuz if anything happens—”

“Which it won’t—”

“I’m comin’ for you. Like, Kill Bill style,” Dean threatened.

His brother scoffed over the phone.

“Like you could take me,” he jeered.

“Dude. Do you _know_ how many bar fights I’ve been in?” Dean said.

“I don’t wanna know,” Sam replied. He sniffed. “I’d still win.”

“Yeah right. Remember that time at Bobby’s—” Dean reminded him.

“That was a cheap shot,” Sammy interjected. “I was wasted.”

“Still counts,” Dean insisted.

“Yeah, whatever, jerk,” Sam replied.

“ _Bitch_ ,” Dean shot back automatically, but Sam’s attention seemed diverted by the task in front of him.

“Hang on.”

The phone went quiet as Sam answered a question from the trucking company. Dean heard the rustle of paper and the soft _beep beep_ of a credit card machine. He heaved a sigh.

“It’s done,” Sam said. Dean heard footsteps in the background and the creak of a door opening as Sam left. “They said it’ll be there two weeks from Monday.”

“Christ, that’s an eternity,” Dean said. His legs wobbled under him and he had to place a hand on the bed to keep him upright.

“Stop being such a baby about it,” Sam replied. He chuckled. “So? I’ve been waiting for you to tell me how last night went.”

Dean blushed automatically.

“Oh. Uh, it went good,” he replied. A grin crept across his face. “Better than good. Awesome.” He paused, then added, “He’s coming over tonight to see the new place. And he said he’ll come to the party.”

Sam made a little humming noise. He sounded pleased.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Sam said again, “So, you guys going as a matching pair?” Sam asked.

“What? No!” Dean blurted. He growled, frustrated, and abruptly changed the subject. “So…anyway, I was thinking I might invite a few other people too. Good people. You’ll like them, I think. Oh shit, that’s right! You’ll never guess who I ran into the other day! Jo! Remember her? She’s here in the city too—bartending at this hipster joint a few blocks from the Plaza…”

He trailed off as Sam’s laughter suddenly filtered in over the receiver. Dean bristled.

“What?” he demanded.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Sam said. Dean heard a muffled sound cross the mic, like his little brother was shaking that enormous Neanderthal head of his. “You just…you sound happy, that’s all. Don’t think I’ve heard you this happy before.”

“Oh,” Dean said. He was silent for a long moment, looking down at his bare feet. “Yeah, well, what can I say? It’s kind of awesome here.”

There was silence over the phone. Dean grinned into it, knowing there was a smile matching his over on the west coast. God, they were really such sentimental idiots sometimes.

“Hey, Sammy, I gotta go,” Dean said a moment later, “Good luck with mid-terms. Can’t wait to see you, man.”

“Yeah, you too,” Sam said. “Good luck with everything.”

“Bye, Sammy.”

“Bye, Dean.”

The phone went dead and he hung up, silly smile still glued to his face.

Dean did a little shopping and then spent the remaining couple of hours working on his laptop in his new home office, answering emails and setting up meetings for the following week. He checked the messages from the recruiter for his new employees—yeah, Dean was going to have _employees_. Weird. He chose a few that sounded good and sent the email off telling her to set things up.

Interviews next week for the new office…permits were coming through smoothly, and with only minimal greasing of the palms to move things along. Things were really starting to come together.

It surprised Dean how much he knew about running his father’s business from the few months trailing him around to meetings. He actually felt like he could do this, for real.

Maybe he’d suspend that thought until he was bringing home the bacon.

Cas texted him at a quarter of eight to tell him he was on his way. Dean left his name with the doorman to allow him up, and true to his word, fifteen minutes following there was a soft knock at the door. Dean opened it with a grin to find Castiel standing there. He looked a little nervous.

“Hey,” Dean greeted. He stepped back to allow Cas in.

“I brought Chinese,” Castiel said, stepping inside and holding up the bag in his hands, “I hope that’s okay.”

“Awesome,” Dean replied. He shut the door. “Dunno if you’ve noticed, but there’s not much I won’t eat. Except maybe tofu and vegan cupcakes. Those things are like _bricks_.”

Castiel laughed a little at that. His eyes flickered up to Dean’s, then dropped to his lips. Dean took a breath, then leaned down to give him a hello kiss. He heard the sound of the takeout bag hit the ground and then Castiel’s arms were looped around him, pulling him closer.

They made out in the foyer for an obscene amount of time. Sounds of soft grunts and murmurs of pleasure echoed in the modest entryway. Castiel’s hands slid up the back of Dean’s shirt, palms pressing him into the other man’s chest. Dean had one hand on Cas’s waist, the other on his ass, doing the same. With one last slow caress of his lips, Dean tilted his head back and looked down at Cas from underneath thick blond lashes.

“Well, hello tiger,” Dean said in a low, gravelly voice.

“I am not ‘Ducky’ tonight?” Castiel murmured, teasing him. He was panting and flushed, his lips painted bright pink from all the kissing.

“Not with that mouth,” Dean replied with a flirty smile. He untangled his arms from the man and grabbed the Chinese food from the floor. “Come on, we’re gonna have to heat this up.” He grinned in a manner that said he was in no way regretting letting the food go cold.

They grabbed heaping plates of chow and Dean led them to the living room. The room was large enough to hold a good-sized party or event, which was a big part of why Dean had chosen this loft. There was a pool table stashed in the corner along with a game of darts and an empty space where he planned on putting a couple pin-ball machines. Up against the wall nearby was a large bar, stocked to capacity. Dean headed toward the sectional couch and entertainment center that took up one side of the room.

“Your apartment is…impressive,” Castiel said, looking around. Dean placed Cas’s plate on the coffee table and set his beside it.

“Yeah dude, I think I could fit about ten of your place into this one,” Dean said, glancing back at him. He turned and gestured to the screen behind him. “And there’s a TV. And video games. And porn. Uh…never mind that last one,” he added quickly, flushing red. “So? What do you want to watch?”

“I…don’t really have a preference,” Castiel said. He took a seat on the couch and stared at the rows of DVDs lined along the shelves of the entertainment center.

“Well, what do you like?” Dean pressed. Castiel looked up at him, face blank.

“Dean, you choose. I really am at a loss,” Castiel answered quickly.

Dean nodded and turned back to the center, crouching down so that the DVDs were at eye-level. He got the sense that Castiel was getting freaked out by his opulent lifestyle and suddenly regretted the comments he’d made about his tiny nutshell of an apartment.

“How about Kung Fu?” he suggested. “Keep with the theme and all.” He looked back at Cas and grinned like a five-year-old.

“Yes, alright,” Castiel said, “That’s a good one.” His face was carefully arranged and Dean picked up on the bluff right away.

“Cas, don’t tell me you’ve never watched TV before,” Dean said.

“Of course I have,” Castiel said quickly. Dean gave him a ‘look’ and he squirmed a little. “Well…no, not exactly,” Cas admitted. “I have walked by them in stores or seen them in bars, but I’ve never paid them much attention. I prefer to read the news…”

“Cas, there’s no need to explain, man,” Dean said, “I mean, it’s weird, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not like… _bad_ weird. You know?”

“Um…yes?” Castiel replied.

Dean rolled his eyes and tried again. “I mean, it’s…I dunno, kind of cool, I guess. Must mean you’re really smart. People say ‘TV rots your brain’ so I guess…”

Dean trailed off. Cas was now looking away, a look on his face like he believed exactly the opposite of everything Dean was saying.

“I know,” Dean declared, “We’ll pop your cherry with some Jackie Chan.”

He grabbed one from the stack and stuck it into the Blu-ray player. Then he settled back onto the couch next to Castiel. The man was still wearing the same quiet mask.

“Cas,” Dean said gently, nudging him with his shoulder, “I don’t care if you’ve never watched TV before. You might be a little weird, but I like that about you.”

At that Castiel’s eyes flickered up to meet his briefly, then away again. Dean caught the bloom across the bridge of his nose.

“Th-thank you, Dean,” Cas stuttered out. He sounded flattered.

Dean hummed and reached forward to grab his plate. He settled it on Cas’s lap and then retrieved his own, sitting back as the movie started. After a few minutes he threw an arm around the back of the couch and settled in a little closer.

Castiel watched the screen, riveted.

“How are they flying around like that?” he asked, chewing. His mouth was open, and a piece of cabbage was hanging out of it. It was most unlike him. Dean watched him munch it up to his lip and into his mouth and nearly missed the question.

“It’s called ‘special effects,’” Dean told him, snapping out of it. “But a lot of the actors in this do their own stunts, which if you ask me is fucking _nuts_.”

“You mean…they can punch and kick like that in real life?” Castiel asked.

“Yep,” Dean said. “Jackie Chan is fucking _awesome_. Dude’s a legend. He’s famous for fighting with _literally_ anything on hand.” He jabbed a finger at the screen, where Chan had just grabbed a wooden chair. “There! See? Totally badass!”

Castiel chuckled, turning blue eyes on him that were made light by his mirth.

“You are like a small child,” he said to Dean.

“ _Dude_ ,” Dean said right back, “It’s Jackie fricken’ _Chan_.”

They watched sitting close together, munching on the takeout as the movie progressed. When his plate was empty, Dean ran to the kitchen for the rest of the carton of lo mein and the fortune cookies that had come with their food. He collapsed back on the couch with a content noise and dug his chopsticks into the carton.

“How can you still eat?” Castiel asked him, mouth hanging open. “You had an entire heaping plate of food.”

Dean shrugged and stuffed a large bite into his mouth. Noodles stuck out every which way, draping down his chin like a strange goatee.

“That is disgusting,” Castiel said, scrunching up his nose.

Dean’s mouth was full, so he couldn’t respond. So instead he did what any mature adult would do. He raised his eyebrows in challenge and flung a noodle at Castiel.

It hit right in the middle of his face, one end stuck to his eyelid—which had closed just in time—the noodle stretching diagonally across his nose and dangling down to the corner of his mouth. Castiel very carefully reached up and picked it off.

“Oh, that’s mature,” Castiel said, holding the noodle pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Dean just grinned at him with a loose mouthful of half-masticated takeout.

Castiel’s eyes went dark and narrow. That was it. Dean was done for. He flicked the noodle at Dean’s face to see how _he_ liked it.

Dean’s head flicked back as the thing hit—not his face, but his neckline. The noodle peeled off and dropped down his shirt. Dean watched it in disgust. He swallowed the mess in his mouth and looked back to Castiel.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” he said.

One of Castiel’s eyebrows raised in challenge. A pile of ammo sat on the plate in his lap, the lo mein barely touched because he’d been saving it for last. Its sacrifice would not go unrewarded. Castiel held out a hand and gestured Dean to ‘bring it’ as the Kung Fu master had in the film.

“You are going down, Winchester,” he said in a much-lower-than-normal voice.

“Oh really?” Dean shot back, “ _Well_ …Mr. …uh…what’s your last name?” he asked, breaking scene.

“Gray,” Castiel told him. Dean paused for a moment to consider that. Castiel Gray. It had a nice ring to it.

“ _Well_ , Mr. Gray, that’s where you would be wrong,” Dean said. He tossed the chopsticks on the coffee table and stuck his hand into the carton of noodles. “See, you’re looking at the Lawrence, Kansas High School’s food fighting _champion_ ,” Dean boasted.

“I think I can take an overgrown teenager,” Castiel replied dryly.

“Oh, okay, _now_ you’ve asked for it.”

Dean let out a vicious battle cry and flung a handful of noodles at the man, laughing as Castiel let out a yelp and ducked. He blocked the majority of the projectile with his outstretched hand and then responded in kind, flinging his own wad of lo mein at Dean.

What progressed was perhaps the most ridiculous evening that Dean had ever spent with someone other than his brother. He was used to pulling pranks on Sam or roughhousing around with him. This was new—this was something completely different. Dean whooped and laughed and flung food around with utter abandon, not at all caring that his new living room was quickly becoming smeared in oil that would have it smelling like Chinatown for weeks to come.

Castiel was currently hiding behind the arm of the couch, empty plate upended on the floor by his knee. He was laughing so hard his face was red. Dean loomed above him from over the end of the couch and stuffed a handful of noodles down the front of his shirt.

“Dean! Enough, please! Mercy!” Castiel yelped, squirming under the unpleasant sensation of the sticky noodles sliding down his front. He pulled the edge of his shirt back and fished them off his stomach. “Oh. Ugh, that is disgusting.”

“You started it,” Dean said, grinning down at him. Castiel was seated cross-legged on the floor, Dean hovering over the arm of the couch. His blue eyes twinkled up at Dean.

“I am beginning to regret that I did,” he said.

Dean hummed and picked a noodle out of his hair.

“My whole living room is gonna reek of Chinese food,” Dean said with a grimace, looking over the damage they’d done. On the TV the movie continued, though there was one lone strand of lo mein stuck in the middle of the screen. Behind it, Jackie Chan let out a cry and leapt at his adversary.

Castiel grinned wickedly and took advantage of his distraction to toss the noodles in his hand at Dean.

They hit with a wet _splat_ to his face. Dean froze, shivering as the noodles peeled off his skin and dropped down the front of his t-shirt.

“Oh, that’s it. You’re done for,” Dean threatened. He climbed over the end of the couch and looped an arm around Castiel, dragging him to the floor. With his other he scooped up what remained of the noodles and stuffed them in his face.

“Dean!” Castiel laughed, squirming under him, “Stop! Enough, I mean it!” He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face to the side, trying his best to push away the hand holding the noodles. Dean had him trapped under his weight, however, and he could do little but protest.

“Admit defeat,” Dean leered, dangling the noodles above his face so that they tickled at his nose. “Then maybe I’ll think about it.”

“Yes! Fine! You win,” Castiel exclaimed. Dean immediately stopped dangling noodles in his face. Castiel cracked open and eye and turned back to peer up at him. “You play dirty.”

“You started it,” Dean said again.

“Yes, what was I thinking?” Castiel replied. He was grinning though, blue eyes bright as they looked up at Dean.

For the first time Dean realized the compromising position they were in. Castiel was pinned under him, body soft and relaxed yet defined and masculine under him. His leg was hooked over the back of Dean’s thigh, and if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d call the look Castiel was shooting him to be almost predatory.

Dean shifted against him and felt the front of his pants drag against his groin. He grunted and pressed them together, lowering his weight down on Castiel.

Castiel’s lips were directly under him, opened part-way. Dean could both hear and feel his ragged breath. It bloomed across his face in short, erratic puffs of warm, tangy air. The smell of Chinese food hung all around them in a thick veil. Dean could see the streaks of oil glistening on Castiel’s face.

He lowered his mouth to Cas’s until his lips barely brushed those of the other man. Then he tilted his head back, dragging them up. Castiel arched under him, chasing them. He relaxed as Dean tilted his head forward again, lips dragging down this time. Castiel let out a small whimpering mewl that begged to be kissed. So Dean did, lowering down and capturing his lips in an open caress, slipping his tongue between them and sliding it against Cas’s own. Castiel fought against the tongue in his mouth, each of them seeking to gain purchase over the confined real estate. Dean pinned him to the roof of his mouth and he whimpered again, body straining up against the weight Dean had half-lowered on top of him.

Dean released his lips and dove down with his tongue to Castiel’s neck, licking up its length to his ear. Castiel squirmed under him as his mouth closed around the soft lobe. He gripped it between his teeth and tugged gently.

“ _Dean!_ ” Castiel gasped. His fingers dug into Dean’s side, gripping the fabric of his over-shirt. His legs circled around Dean’s waist and hugged their fronts together. Dean ground down against him and licked at his ear with the tip of his tongue. He traced its rim and then whispered into it.

“You like that, Cas?”

Castiel groaned low—the sound of it could have been taken as pained had it not been for how magnificently hard he was. The boner trapped in the front of his pants pressed into the front of Dean’s in a way that had him grinding his hips automatically. Dean reached down and placed his hand over the bulge in Castiel’s pants, gripping him through the rough denim. Castiel gasped again. Dean dragged his hand down, then slowly back up the length of him and felt the man shudder in pleasure. He started to slip his hand into his waistband when he felt Castiel’s hands tugging at him.

“Dean, wait,” Castiel said abruptly. His hands were wrapped around Dean’s wrist. His brow knitted together and he seemed suddenly anxious.

Dean moved back at once, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Cas? What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed. He’d thought they’d been having a good time. He thought Cas was into this. Had he been wrong?

“Dean, I’m sorry. I should have said this sooner. I am not ready to…to…” Castiel trailed off, frowning as the words got lost somewhere on their way out.

It took Dean a moment to realize what he meant.

“Hey, no worries, man,” Dean replied quickly, “We don’t have to. We can just kiss and stuff. Sound good?”

Castiel shook his head, still seeming uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry. I should explain. It’s not that I don’t want to—” Castiel struggled.

“Cas, you don’t have to explain,” Dean interrupted him, pretending to be cool with it. Inwardly, he groaned. All this cockteasing was seriously pushing his limits, but he’d deal. He took a breath. “We’ll do it when you’re ready. I can wait.” He rolled his hips against Cas, drawing a shocked gasp out of him. “You’re hard, so that’s a good sign.”

Castiel made a worried noise under him so Dean shushed him again.

“Really, Cas. I’m okay with it,” he said.

He propped himself up on his elbows and gazed down at Castiel, at the worried dip of his brow. Castiel’s eyes flickered up to his, then away again.

Dean trailed his fingers down the side of his face and called out to him softly.

“Cas, hey, look at me,” he murmured.

Castiel’s blue eyes flickered up. The color of them was barely perceptible in the dim light of the room.

Dean smiled down at him, then lowered his mouth to Castiel’s softly, gently. Castiel drew in a small breath and then opened his mouth wider, allowing Dean’s lips to drag heavily across his, his tongue dipping inside…

Suddenly Dean wasn’t pretending any more. His lips were moving of their own accord, shifting constantly while searching for a deeper purchase. Dean kissed him so long their lips felt seared together, one massive mold of warm saliva and flesh. He relaxed against Castiel, his body softening above him. Under him, Castiel melted in his arms, edges blurring and running together where rough fabric pressed against cloth and skin clung to skin.

By the time they pulled apart, the movie was nearing its finale.

“I wish I were better at this aspect of relationships,” Castiel murmured softly long minutes later. They were entwined together on the floor—Dean, having grown tired of propping up his weight, had rolled off to the side. Now they lay next to each other on the living room floor, surrounded by slowly mummifying lo mein noodles while they looped their arms around one another. “It has never come naturally to me as it obviously does for you,” Castiel continued. He sounded ashamed.

“Hey, you’re the one who said we all have our strengths,” Dean reminded him. He turned Cas’s face back to him, stroking the side of it with his thumb. “It doesn’t bother me, Cas. You’re better at this whole dating thing than I am. We gotta work with what we’ve got, right?”

At Castiel’s slight nod, Dean grinned.

“Maybe you just need practice,” he joked. At the worried look Castiel shot him, he laughed. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“No, it was…funny,” Castiel replied, attempting a smile. “And perhaps you have a point.”

Dean made a pleased hum and murmured something about starting now. He pulled Cas closer to him and kissed him slow and long, hand running up under his shirt in the back as his other gave generous attention to the bulge in Cas’s pants. When he finally pulled back, Cas was panting and flushed with arousal. Dean suspected he’d been pretty close.

“So are we…?” Dean started to ask. He trailed off, suddenly nervous to know the answer. He swallowed and started again, forcing through a smile. “You used the ‘R-word’, Cas,” he said, “Is that what this is?”

A bright blush bloomed across Castiel’s cheeks. He blinked twice, and Dean suspected he hadn’t realized what he said. A little gurgling sound escaped from deep in his throat when he attempted to speak.

“I…if that is…if it isn’t too soon?” Castiel replied, looking up at Dean tentatively.

Dean felt his own cheeks grow hot. “Uh…I mean— _aww, hell_.” For once Dean told his nerves to shove off and shrugged. “I was there the night you took me to the opera,” Dean told him honestly. “What’dya say, Cas?” he asked. He flashed the man a lopsided grin. “Wanna be my boyfriend?”

Castiel lowered his eyes and smiled softly.

“Yes, I would like that,” Cas replied.

Dean grinned at him, then leaned down to press his lips against his. Their first kiss as a couple, and he said it when he pulled back. Castiel beamed at him and cradled Dean’s face in his hands. He reached for their second, then their third…

They quickly lost count as to how many it became. By the time they pulled apart, the credits had finished rolling and the DVD had defaulted back to the menu screen.

Dean leaned over to turn the television off and then returned to Castiel’s embrace. He hummed and ran a hand through Cas’s hair, then stopped to pick a piece of dried noodle out from it. He wrinkled his nose.

“We should wash up,” Dean said, climbing off of him and sitting back on his heels.

Castiel hummed and sat up, looking at him in adoration. _His boyfriend_. God, a few days ago Dean was sure it would never happen.

They tumbled back into the kitchen laughing easily about the childish shenanigans they’d allowed themselves. Castiel hung off Dean’s arm and grinned up at him, his blue eyes bright and starry. Dean scrounged around for a dish towel as Castiel washed up in the sink, wiping away the streaks of oil on his face and neck. Dean tossed him the towel.

“Hang on, there’s another noodle in your hair,” he said. He leaned in and picked it out, dropping it in the sink.

Castiel grinned up at him, the dishtowel lowered from his face. The edges of his hair were damp and Dean got a vivid preview of what he might look like soaking wet. He cleared his throat.

“You smell like lo mein,” Dean said. It was the safest thing to say in the moment.

“I have a feeling the poor cab driver who gets stuck with me will not appreciate the state I’m in,” Cas noted, looking down at his shirt. There were large splotches of oil and noodle sauce all over it. “And I am not sure this will wash out completely.” He frowned deeper as he realized something. “This will get on my coat.”

“Take it off,” Dean said. He realized how that sounded and swallowed. “I-I mean, I have something that you can borrow,” he amended.

He motioned for Cas to follow him and led him into the bedroom, nerves jumping around in his stomach. Bringing Castiel in here near his giant of a bed was going to take all of his self-control. It was a good thing they’d had the ‘not tonight’ conversation in the safety of the living room earlier.

Dean made a beeline for the dresser and opened the only utilized drawer he owned at the moment. Everything else was bare, waiting on his clothes and other things to be shipped over from California. He’d bought a few items since coming to the city, but there were some things that just couldn’t be replaced. Plus if he were totally honest with himself, he was too lazy to go shopping for all new stuff.

“Here we go.” Dean came out triumphant and tossed the shirt to Castiel, who was standing just a few feet behind him. Cas held it up to his torso and read the shirt upside down.

“I’ll miss you…Huggy Bear?” he recited, raising an eyebrow.

The tee was faded purple and had a teddy bear in the middle of it holding a large red heart, around which were the words Cas had just read off.

“Shut up,” Dean muttered, “Sam got it for me when he left for college. It was a joke, okay? That I was gonna miss him not being around, even though he’s barely an hour away...” Dean trailed off at the look Cas was giving him. Soft, adoring. _Aww, hell_. Dean blushed and looked away. “I-I might have another if you don’t want to—” He stopped as Castiel suddenly stripped off his shirt in front of him. “—wear it,” Dean finished. “Holy shit.”

Castiel’s chest was fucking _gorgeous_. Smooth yet defined, well-shaped—the perfect blend of graceful masculinity. Oh God, Dean could spend _hours_ on that chest. Then suddenly it was gone and the teddy bear’s face was smiling out at him from over Dean’s shiny new personal heaven. He forced his eyes back up to Cas’s face and found a deep blush across the man’s cheeks.

“I should…go,” Castiel said hesitantly.

Dean moved in, his eyes shaded. All he really wanted in that moment was to kiss Castiel silly in that ridiculous teddy bear t-shirt. He grabbed at the sides of the shirt and pulled Castiel to him. Castiel reacted instantly, groaning into his mouth as soon as Dean captured his lips. He breathed into Cas’s mouth, dragging lips and tongue against his and running his hands up the back of the shirt that had started it all. He pulled back an indeterminate amount of time later, but long enough that he could feel the sticky residue from the lo mein starting to crackle and dry on his skin. Castiel panted heavily against his lips, his eyes a stormy blue. Dean could taste his arousal on the tip of his tongue.

It took all his willpower, but Dean managed to pull back a little further.

“I need a shower,” Dean said, grinning at the man in his arms, “And you’ve got work early. I’ll call you a ride.”

Castiel nodded and let out a breath.

“Yes,” he breathed, “That would be… th-thank you, Dean.”

They moved back to the kitchen, Castiel lingering close to him and stealing kisses as Dean called up the company car. When he hung up, the man hummed and leaned against his chest.

“I have been thinking,” Castiel started. Dean felt a smile slide over his face. He liked the sound of that already.

“Yeah?” he prompted, “Should I cancel the car?”

Castiel shook his head.

“No, that wasn’t what I meant.” Dean let out a soft “Oh,” and was about to apologize when Cas continued. “I was thinking it is my turn to take you out on a date,” he said. Blue eyes flickered up to meet his. “I was thinking Saturday. I work until three.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. He felt his heart speed up a little, excited by the thought of Cas romancing him. “What’ve you got in mind?”

Castiel grinned at him crookedly, a secretive glint in his eyes.

“Telling you would ruin the surprise,” he said.

Dean blinked.

“Shit,” he said. He drew a breath. He was getting _way_ too excited for this. His heartbeat thudded against his chest.

“Is that a yes?” Castiel teased. Dean stared at him and licked his lips.

“Yeah,” he replied after a moment. “ _Hell_ yeah.”

“Good,” Cas replied. He leaned in for a kiss to seal the deal—or at least that’s how Dean read it, but it could have just been because he was happy. Hell, he knew _he_ was fucking elated.

He walked Cas out to the curb, kissing him one last time before depositing him in the car. He heard church bells chiming the late hour over the cacophony of honking and sirens that was the city’s usual backdrop. He gave the car a pat on the roof and stepped back onto the curb as it rolled away, hand waving as it left. There was an easy smile stretched across his face. The wind tugging at his noodle-encrusted shirt felt cool and friendly in the crisp night air. Goosebumps rose across his skin, but he found he wasn’t cold. Instead he felt enlivened, at peace—in ways he couldn’t even begin to understand.

After the car had turned the corner and moved out of sight, and before Dean turned to go back inside, he sent up a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever was listening.

_Thank you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> So I blew past 100K words like...2 weeks ago??...and forgot to mention it. This week I'll be hitting 120K/300 pages and....shiiiiit that's both exciting and fucking TERRIFYING at the same time!! O___O
> 
> What did y'all think of Castiel's last name? I wanted to go with something other than Novak cuz I feel like it's been over-used. I tried to pick something that suited him (and his brothers....who have yet to be named ;3)
> 
> Also.... I did a THING. Check out the Chapter 10 [Extra-Special Bonus Content](https://regaime.livejournal.com/68981.html) over at my LJ to see what I mean.


	11. Romancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas certainly knows the quickest way to Dean's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: mentions of past-homeless Cas**
> 
> **Disclaimer: any gender role comments in this chapter are not my own and are written to keep in character (Dean). Also, any cultural references/interactions are made with the highest respect.**

* * *

Friday flew by for Dean. He wasn’t sure it would considering he had meetings all day regarding the opening for the new office, but interviewing rather felt like someone was flipping flashcards of people at him for hours on end. His father spent the day with him at the office helping to get things in order but it was Dean who did the majority of the legwork—meeting with the people the head hunter sent over—and Dean who signed off on the final decisions. John only gave his input when Dean asked, and seemed content to sit on the sidelines and observe his son work. It made Dean nervous as hell, but he supposed he must be doing alright given the fact his father hadn’t said otherwise. At least, not yet.

Before he knew it Dean was switching off the lights to the place in preparation of their big open the following Monday. _Winchester Enterprises, NY_ was a go.

It was late when Dean got back to his apartment. The cleaning lady had come and though the place still smelled faintly of Chinese food (which Dean suspected it would for some time) it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it would be. In fact, the lingering smell brought back fond memories of the night before.

Cas was working late at the opera house and Dean wouldn’t see him until tomorrow for their date. It was the longest he’d gone without seeing his sexy bellboy since they’d met, and they only just got together…

Dean got a vivid flash of the man stripping off his t-shirt the previous night and the memory of the smooth expanse of his chest followed by that ridiculous Huggy Bear t-shirt had Dean grabbing for the button to his pants.

He wouldn’t say he was proud of it, but he came undone imagining Castiel in his t-shirt, and nothing else.

* * *

Saturday dawned bright and early. Autumn had rolled in overnight with a powerful will and had brought with it a heavy layer of frost and even a few mutinous flurries. The day heated up quickly however, as the sun rose up over the red and golden hues of the trees lining Broadway. Dean could see the mosaic of them peppering the park from his bedroom window, great tall oaks in shades of brown contrasted by the fiery red-orange of sugar maples and the bright yellow of ash and birch. Some trees still clung to their summer green, reluctant to part with their foliage and turn inward for their winter hibernation.

Dean grabbed a cinnamon latte after his workout (what could he say, he was feeling the amorous pull of autumn that morning) from a little café around the corner to his place and decided to go for a walk in the park. It was early yet, and a group of women were doing yoga on the green. Dean allowed his eyes to slide over their collection of finely toned backsides as he sauntered past them in the midst of an expert rendition of downward dog, sipping from his coffee and breathing in the fresh chill air of fall. In another couple months the trees would be completely bare and there would be a dusting of snow on the ground to replace the fallen leaves. Tourists from all over the country would flock here to get a taste of the Big Apple during the holidays, bugging up the subways and sidewalks with their sightseeing maps and their IPhones…

It hit Dean that he wasn’t one of them any longer. He was no longer a tourist in town for a business trip, but an actual _resident_ of this fine city. He ought to get to know it better so he could properly play the part.

Perhaps he’d start with a number of famous restaurants, or perhaps he ought to get the sightseeing over with and check out all the big hits—the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, Ground Zero, Elis Island… Or maybe he’d skip all of that and take Cas to the fairgrounds like his brother had suggested.

Speaking of Sam, Dean had promised to call him. He dug out his phone, found a bench and brought up his little brother on speed dial.

Sam picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Dean,” he greeted.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean replied. He was already grinning and he didn’t really know why until he remembered with a jolt that _he had a boyfriend._

Should he have looked at those yoga girls? Being in a relationship just meant no touching right? He should SearchWeb some of this shit.

“So, how’s the new place?” Sam asked. That snapped Dean out of his thoughts.

“Awesome. You’d like it. Dude, I’ve got a pool table and a workout room and a home office and a kickass TV and _a Jacuzzi tub_. Seriously, it’s the best,” Dean said.

His brother laughed.

“Sounds like your kind of place,” he said. “It’s too fancy for me. I’d be happy with our old farmhouse, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean replied, pleased. He kind of saw Sam moving back to Lawrence when he was done with school, hopefully with someone to help him fill up their old childhood home with rascals of his own. It wasn’t like Dean was going to be the one to give their father grandchildren, after all—at least, not that he was planning on.

“So? How are things with Cas?” Sam asked. Dean laughed. He had been silently betting on how long it would take his brother to ask about his love life. A little over a minute. He should get Sammy a prize for holding out that long.

“Also awesome,” Dean replied. “We, uh…made it official the other night.” The grin on his face threatened to crawl through the phone line to California.

“Holy shit. Dean with a _significant other_ ,” Sam joked emphatically, “I never thought I’d live to see it.”

“Shut up,” Dean snapped at him, “Don’t say it like that. You’ll jinx it.”

“Yeah right,” Sam said, laughing. Dean heard him sigh from over the phone. “Well I guess if he ended up your boyfriend things must have gone pretty good last night.”

It tickled Dean that his brother could equally tease the shit out of him for being in a relationship and at the same time be this concerned with how it was going.

“Yeah, we had a good time,” Dean replied, “We had Chinese and watched old Kung Fu movies and talked a bunch…”

Well, talked and made out, but he was sure Sammy didn’t want to hear about that.

“Hang on. You… _talked_?” Sam asked.

“Yeah Sammy, we _talked_. Like people do? You know, _human_ people?” Dean said. He could practically hear the eye roll over the frustrated sound that echoed through the receiver.

“Not what I meant and you know it,” Sam said. “I mean, since when do you bring someone back to your place and not try and get in their pants?”

It took Dean a second to respond to that.

“I mean, I did,” he said, chewing at his lip. “But…I dunno, Sam. Things are different this time. We’re taking it slow.”

“You mean you haven’t—” Sam broke off, gasping in disbelief.

“No, we haven’t done the dirty yet,” Dean said with a growl. To be honest, Dean was bothered by his reaction. Sam must have realized that because in the next minute he was apologizing.

“Sorry, Dean. I just assumed you had—”

“Well we haven’t,” Dean bit out, cutting him off. “Jesus, Sammy, you make me sound like some kind of sex addict.”

“You kind of _are_ a sex addict, Dean,” Sam pointed out. “That’s your whole thing, man. I’m just… surprised, that’s all. I think this Castiel guy is good for you.”

“Yeah? You think?”

Dean would never admit it, but it mattered to him what Sam thought about him—the choices he made, the way he lived his life…and Cas was a big part of that life right about now. He was the entire reason behind the choices Dean was making.

“Yeah, Dean, I do,” Sam was saying.

Dean smiled and ducked his head. He felt the corners of his eyes crinkle up. They weren’t moist at all. Not one bit.

“Thanks, Sammy,” he said.

“Anytime, man.” Sam paused over the line. “So _are_ you okay with taking things slow?” Sammy asked. “I know you, Dean, so don’t tell me you’re not chomping at the bit to get this guy in bed with you. I think it’s noble and all, you waiting, but…I dunno, man. It’s gotta be hard for you.”

Dean made a derisive sound in his throat and scuffed his foot against the ground. He was silent for a long time.

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean said after a long silence. He frowned into the phone. “Yeah, it sucks. He’s like one big walking cocktease, and every time I make a move he pulls the breaks…”

Dean trailed off, the frown deepening.

“I dunno, maybe it’s a trust thing,” he said.

Sam let out a _“Hmm,”_ on the other end, thinking that over.

“Maybe he’s intimidated by you,” Sam said. Dean heard the muffled _fwump_ of fabric as his brother shrugged over the phone. “I mean, you _do_ have a reputation of sleeping around.”

“That’s nuts,” Dean said, dismissing the suggestion immediately. “I’m not that hard to please. Christ, if anything I’m easy and that’s why.”

“You don’t need to tell _me_ that,” Sam replied. “ _I_ get it. But he may not know that.”

Dean grumbled a little under his breath.

“I think you should talk to him about it,” Sam said, “Seriously. Make sure you’re both on the same page.”

“We’re _not_ on the same page,” Dean pointed out, “I mean, it’s not a problem. I can wait as long as it takes.” He blushed and dropped his voice. “I like him, Sammy. I don’t want him thinking he needs to jump the gun to make me happy.”

“Just think about it,” Sam pressed, “And until he’s ready…I dunno, stock up on tissues.”

“Ha,” Dean said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Sam chuckled on the other line.

“Hey, I gotta go. Keep me updated, okay?” his brother said.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replied.

“I’ll see you next week, man,” Sam said.

“See ya, Sammy.”

Dean hung up and stared out at the changing trees, their multi-colored leaves dancing in the crisp autumn breeze. Every now and then one would let go and glide on invisible wings to the ground below, leaving behind space on bare twigs where new buds would eventually grow. Change was everywhere, from the trees turning inward to the geese making their annual trip south for the winter. Dean breathed in the cool air and felt the cycle of the seasons touch him at his core.

A lot in his life was changing too. New, brighter colors—rainbows upon rainbows of them.

* * *

He met Cas in front of the park at the agreed upon time, wearing a rusty plaid shirt and a faded green jacket to ward off the autumn chill. Cas was wearing the same long tan coat that he seemed to wear everywhere, jeans, and a deep indigo shirt underneath. Together they headed down Fifth Avenue at an even pace with Castiel leading the way. His hand gripped Dean’s comfortably, blue eyes alight yet relaxed and looking at Dean in a way that sent rays of warmth rushing through him.

Dean tried again to get Cas to tell him where they were going, but Castiel merely mimed zipping his lips and grinned at him in amusement. Dean grumbled and followed him into the Fifth Avenue subway station. He’d been trying for two days to get Cas to reveal the surprise, but the most Cas had given him was the text that morning telling Dean to _‘bring an appetite,’_ which meant they’d be eating at some point, which…honestly didn’t give him a lot to go on. People ate on dates 98% of the time, Dean was sure.

“You know, if I knew where we were going, we could take the car,” he grumbled, accepting the ticket Castiel handed him.

“What if I told you riding the subway was part of the experience?” Castiel asked him. He was grinning again, like the joke was on Dean.

“I’ve been on the subway before, Cas,” Dean said, dead serious.

“That isn’t what I meant.” Castiel grabbed his hand and tugged him down the corridor. “Come.”

“What am I, a dog?” Dean asked him humorously, “You want me to fetch too? How about roll over? I’m good at that one.” He flashed Castiel a cheeky smile.

Castiel just laughed at him.

“Come on,” he said again, tugging on Dean’s hand.

Dean followed him with a shrug. He wondered if he might get a hint of where they were going once they made it onto the platform, but honestly he had no idea. The only information he had to go on was that their destination was downtown somewhere on the R line.

Dean also wondered what he meant by _part of the experience_ , since Cas had yet to clue him in.

One thing he did notice was that Castiel hadn’t dropped his hand once since picking it up. Dean shifted his and gave it a small squeeze. A moment later Castiel sent his response in the same manner. The man turned to him and smiled, teeth and gums poking through those wide lips of his. God, he was beautiful when he smiled.

Dean moved in for a kiss, slipping a hand behind Cas’s head to pull him in and keep him close. They kissed until they heard the brakes of the subway squealing on their tracks.

“This is us,” Castiel said, tugging Dean toward the train.

Cas led him toward the front of the subway, ducking into a car only when he heard the warning alarm blaring to announce the doors closing. He pulled Dean inside, catching him around the middle as the doors snapped shut behind him.

“Cutting it close there, Ducky,” Dean said, grinning down at him. Castiel released him with a small huff of laughter.

“I had my reasons,” he said. He nodded toward the rest of the car.

Dean blinked as he realized it was mostly empty, save for a select few people on the far side of the car. Here in their little alcove up by the front of the car, it was pretty private. He looked back to Cas and then the man was pulling him down by his ears into a kiss.

“Is this what you meant by experience?” Dean asked him when he pulled away.

Castiel blushed slightly and nodded. His eyes flickered to the rest of the passengers in the car, but none of them had noticed their little display of affection. Or if they had, they were pretending otherwise.

“Dean, today I will be showing you the city as I know it,” Castiel said, looking back at him. He seemed breathless—from the kiss or because he was excited, Dean couldn’t tell. His eyes sparkled though, widened slightly in his eagerness, and that gave Dean his answer.

Dean grinned.

“Then I am left in your capable—and very _hot_ if I might add—hands,” he said. Dean grabbed one of the named and reached it around his waist, placing it on his ass. He did the same with the left and then pulled Castiel a little closer.

“I think I want to experience some more right now,” Dean said in a low, gravelly tone as he lowered his lips down...

Dean really hoped Castiel was paying attention to the stops and that he wasn’t _distracting_ him too much.

It seemed he was worrying about nothing. Castiel heard the announcer when the call for the next stop went out some dozen or so stops later. He extricated himself from Dean.

“Next one is us,” he said. He wiped at his mouth with his fingers and grinned softly. There was a look in his eyes that said he would gladly miss it to continue their _experience_ but he had plans.

Dean nodded and followed him out when the subway stopped. He read the sign on the platform wall. Canal street. It didn’t take him long to work it out.

“Chinatown?” Dean asked.

“Yes, you guessed correctly,” Castiel replied. He seemed disappointed and Dean suddenly wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“So are we just wandering around or…?” Dean asked him. Castiel shot him an annoyed look.

“I have an itinerary,” he said gruffly.

_Oh_. Okay, Dean should _definitely_ shut up about this.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m ruining the surprise, aren’t I?” He offered Cas a sheepish grin and shook his head. “I told you I was shit at this, man.”

That got him a little smile, that secret one that told him Cas found his childish antics endearing.

“It’s fine, Dean,” Castiel said, shaking his head slightly. “This is your date. We can go wherever you like.” The smile grew, tugging up on one side. “But, if you are interested, I do have a number of places in mind that I think you will thoroughly enjoy.”

Dean flashed his teeth in another goofy smile.

“Lead the way, Ducky.”

Castiel flushed and started walking.

“That nickname is…embarrassing…” he mumbled.

“It’s cute,” Dean replied, “and I like it.”

He jogged around in front of Cas, dancing backward as they moved through the station.

“You’re telling me you don’t like it when I call you ‘My Little Ducky’?” Dean teased.

The flush on Cas’s face grew. He looked away but didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought,” Dean said smugly. He dropped back to Cas’s side and took up his hand.

“I will need to find an appropriate nickname for you in that case,” Castiel said. He grinned mischievously and looked at Dean, his face brightening. “How about ‘Huggy Bear’?” he suggested.

“Hell no,” Dean blurted.

“Yes, that has a nice ring to it,” Castiel said to himself, ignoring Dean’s violently shaking head.

“No, Cas, come on man,” he protested, “It’s so—that name’s so— _girly_.”

“And ‘Ducky’ isn’t?” Cas challenged.

“Not all ducks are girls,” Dean said.

“Nor are all bears female,” Castiel pointed out.

“It was holding a heart,” Dean argued, “And it’s not like you’re calling me ‘beary’ so it’s not really—”

Dean suddenly broke off at the grin Castiel was sporting.

“You’re not going to stop unless I do, are you?” Dean said.

“You are smarter than you look,” Castiel replied, teasing.

Dean thought about it hard for a minute and then cursed under his breath. There was no way in hell he was stopping and Cas knew it. And if he was _really_ honest with himself…he rather liked the nickname Cas picked out for him.

“Okay, fine. You know what? Go ahead. Call me ‘Huggy Bear’. I can take it like a man,” Dean told him. He spread his arms wide open to demonstrate his capable male self, then grabbed Cas around the waist and pulled him into his chest. “You should keep the t-shirt.”

“Wouldn’t you like it back?” Castiel asked, looking up at him, “I thought it was a gift from your brother.”

He was suddenly serious. Dean let him go and dropped back a step.

“No, I mean—it’s always been a size too small for me,” Dean said, eyes lowered between them. “Really, you keep it.” He scuffed his shoe against the concrete under them, then added, “I want you to have it. It…looked cute on you.”

Dean grunted and cleared his throat, embarrassed by the admission. He looked away and changed the subject.

“So, ah, should we get going?” he asked, gesturing toward the exit. When he finally chanced looking at Castiel again, the man was staring at him curiously. Dean cleared his throat again and felt his eyes drop back to the floor.

“Cas, if it’s weird then don’t keep the shirt, and I don’t have to call you anything,” Dean said in a rush.

“Dean, that’s not—” Castiel started and then stopped, at a loss as to what to say. He shook his head a little. “I did not expect… It is not strange in the least.” The man seemed to be having a hard time pinning down what he was trying to say. “I’m sorry, I am not making much sense. You surprised me is all.”

He shook his head again. There was a bewildered look on his face and his eyes were wide, showing off their intense blue color.

“Like…in a good way, or…?” Dean prompted.

“Good. Definitely in a good way,” Castiel replied, grinning shyly. His eyes flickered up to Dean’s. “It is something a couple tends to do down the road, not…so soon after getting together.”

“Nicknames or cruddy t-shirts?” Dean asked, because he needed the clarification. “But I mean I guess either way I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“Naming,” Castiel replied, then reconsidered. “Though…yes, I suppose the giving of sentimental gifts is also…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to insinuate that it was wrong of you to suggest it.”

“I guess I don’t really play by the rules,” Dean admitted. “This is my first rodeo so it’s not like I’m gonna know the difference. I’m just going by my instincts, so if they’re off or…or if something makes you uncomfortable? Like…like what happened the other night. You gotta let me know, okay?” Dean said.

Castiel nodded.

“Yes, alright,” he agreed. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a happy sigh. “Shall we…continue to our first destination?” he said.

Dean gave him a nod and another shameless grin.

“Lead the way, Ducky.”

They walked down Canal street toward the heart of Chinatown. Dean thought about what Cas had said and how he’d reacted to Dean when he’d offered up some cute couple-y thing. He thought maybe he was figuring Cas out a little—little by little learning what he liked in a relationship. Romance, honesty, emotional intimacy… was that the key to this whole thing between them? Dean wondered.

He was thinking so hard he barely paid attention to where they were going until Cas nudged him to let him know they’d arrived. Dean’s head snapped up to the store they’d stopped in front of.

“Aji…Ichiban?” Dean read from the sign. His eyes took in the red lettering and the interior visible through the glass storefront. Behind them were rows and rows and _stacks_ of rows of—Dean could barely contain the thought.

“You brought me to a candy store?” Deans voice held a level of bewildered disbelief that had his head spinning. “ _Dude_ , you brought me to a freakin’ _Chinese_ candy store?”

“I take it I have…exceeded your expectations?” Castiel asked with a crooked smile.

Dean just shoved into the store and stuffed the nearest thing in his mouth—which turned out to be some kind of dried fruit dusted with caster sugar in a bowl by the door—and repeated, “ _Dude._ ”

Dean’s attention was immediately diverted to the rows upon rows of sugary treats lined up around the store. He tried a sample from the next bowl in line. Candied plum. Castiel followed and looked over his shoulder, reading the labels as he tried each, perhaps knowing Dean wasn’t bothering before stuffing whatever it was into his mouth.

He chewed constantly for the next half hour. Nearly every container of dried confectionary had a small glass sample bowl on top of it, and Dean went around to each one, brightening at each new flavor as it slowly added to the smorgasbord of half-masticated gummies in his mouth. He kept offering samples to Cas, but he kept declining so Dean ate his too.

“Sure you don’t want to try it?” Dean asked for perhaps the dozenth time since they’d entered the store. Castiel merely shook his head.

“I have tried them all before,” he said, offering more of an explanation this time.

“Yeah? You come here often?” Dean asked him.

“Not anymore,” Castiel replied softly. He glanced around the store, found the store attendant’s attention on the receipt slips at the cash register, and turned back to Dean. “I haven’t been back here since I started working at The Plaza.”

“You mean since you were…” Dean trailed off as it hit him. “So you came here for…”

“For the free samples, yes,” Castiel finished for him. He looked down at the tub of dried mango before him. “I didn’t have much else to do so I would just walk…exploring the city and panhandling along the way. I learned quickly that Chinatown is a good place to go to get a cheap meal. I would come here first so that I wouldn’t be as hungry and pocket what I could for later.”

“Cas…” Dean honestly had no idea what to say to that.

“Dean, I am not ashamed of my time being homeless,” Castiel said, “I look at it as my penance for what happened with Balthazar.”

“Shit, I’m sorry man,” Dean said quickly, swallowing. “I didn’t mean for you to think that. It doesn’t bother me, Cas, I just…I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I mean, nothing I say could ever fix any of that.”

“I am not telling you so that you may ‘fix’ it,” Castiel clarified. He seemed mildly annoyed with Dean for suggesting it. “If I am telling you something of my past, it is always in the interest of making conversation, not so that you may pity me.”

“I’m not,” Dean rushed to say, “You just…you deserve better than that, Cas. You deserve—hell, I dunno…a hell of a lot more than what you got in life.” He shrugged. “It just doesn’t seem fair.”

“Life brought me _here_ ,” Castiel said with a small smile. “That is not such a bad place to be.”

Dean laughed in surprise. God, the man was like a walking inspirational poster.

“No,” Dean said, smirking, “I guess not.”

They were silent for a long minute. Dean chewed quietly on another sample of mango.

“Cas, why _did_ you bring me here?” he asked finally. He shook his head. “I mean, if that’s the kind of memory it brings up, why would you want to come back here at all?”

“Because it is not a bad memory,” Castiel murmured. “It…bothers people when I say this, but not everything about being homeless was painful. For one, it was the first time in my life where I felt truly free, and there were many days I enjoyed myself immensely, learning this city and all its secrets in ways no other person could…” He trailed off and smiled. “This is one of those secrets. I brought you here because I thought you might enjoy it too.”

Dean gaped at him for a long moment, mouth hanging open with his half-chewed food. Then he slowly remembered how to function as a human again and closed it.

“You’re, ah…” Dean broke off, laughing a little uneasily. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Castiel hummed and his smile widened.

“I assume you mean that as a compliment?” he asked. His eyes flickered up to Dean’s.

“Oh hell yes,” Dean replied firmly.

They continued around the store, Dean sampling liberally when his back was turned to the store attendant. Many of the bowls he revisited when she wasn’t looking, and when he could he grabbed as much as he could play off as ‘one sample’.

It was inevitable, really, that he got caught. Dean suddenly came face-to-face with an angry little Chinese woman—different from the polite-yet-bored shop attendant still at the register. She must have come out of the back when he wasn’t looking.

“One sample per bowl,” the woman told him in clipped, short words. Her eyebrows angled sharply down toward the bridge of her nose.

“My bad,” Dean said, apologizing, “Won’t happen again.”

“I catch you again, I throw you out!” the woman said harshly, pointing her finger. Her eyes slid over to Castiel.

“I remember you,” she said, but that was all she said. She sent Dean one last sharp look and shuffled away.

Castiel blinked.

“What do you think she meant?” he wondered aloud.

Dean shrugged and looped an arm around him, drawing Cas toward the next bin in line.

“Never mind her. Help me sneak some of these samples.”

Castiel grunted and reached instead for an empty bag. He handed it to Dean.

“Perhaps you ought to purchase your extra samples instead,” Castiel replied. He offered Dean a warm smile. “My treat.”

Dean’s eyes widened. His lips wagged a little.

“Cas, no,” he said quickly. “I’ve got it. Save your cash for school, man.”

Castiel shook his head.

“I will not take no for an answer,” he said gently. “It is my turn to romance you, after all.”

That had Dean grinning like a thirteen-year-old girl. Not that he would ever admit to it.

“You’re romancing me with _candy_?” he said, incredulous.

Castiel squinted up at him in mock seriousness.

“What else would I romance you with?” he asked.

Dean just stared at him.

“ _Dude_.” He pulled Cas in close to him until their lips were nearly touching. “Best boyfriend _ever_ ,” he said, dropping a light kiss to his mouth.

Castiel hummed in contentment and closed his eyes. They fluttered open when Dean pulled back.

Dean tooled around the store for another half-hour or so, trying samples to the things he hadn’t tried yet. He hit a section of dried squid and other ocean-themed goodies which were _sweet_ and weirdly fishy at the same time and skipped over the rest of them to the section of wasabi peas.

Now _that_ he could get in with.

Dean scooped up a modest bag of the delicious crunchy-spicy treats to bring home and moved on to the middle sections of the store that sported all the traditional American candies.

He grabbed a second bag of gummy-sharks. Finally he turned to Cas and had to ask the question that had been lingering on his mind this whole time.

“Cas, what’s your favorite?”

Castiel thought about it for a moment.

“If I had to choose…” At Dean’s nod, he continued. “The coconut ginger. That is my favorite.”

Dean moved over to where he remembered the ginger section to be and pointed.

“These?”

Castiel nodded, so Dean grabbed a bag and filled it up to the brim.

“Don’t worry, this one’s on me,” he said before Cas could protest.

Castiel snorted a little in derision.

“I wasn’t concerned about that,” he said.

Dean looked up at him.

“Anyway, I’m getting this one,” he said again. He didn’t explain why. He had plans for that bag of candy.

“I am not stopping you,” Castiel replied. There was a layer of sarcasm in the words.

Dean threw him a little smirk and went over to the register with his treats. True to his word, Castiel only paid for the first two bags.

They took their treats outside and Dean looked around, then to Castiel.

“Where to next?” he asked.

Castiel merely grinned and took his hand, pulling him in another direction. He seemed to know exactly where he was going.

Dean had an idea of what he wanted to do with the candy he’d purchased from _Aji Ichiban_ , so when Cas next took him to one of Chinatown’s oldest gift shop, he kept his eyes open for something that would do the trick. He knew it as soon as he saw it. The tall plastic container was painted blue at the edges. A long red dragon was painted up around its sides.

“Perfect,” Dean said aloud, smiling. The snacks he’d purchased had a future living in this container.

Dean brought it over to the counter, then added a back scratcher, a Chinese finger trap, and a little red drum with strings just for fun. Castiel came up behind him and placed a hand at the back of his neck. He hummed as he saw the treasure trove Dean had piled on the counter.

“Like a kid in a toy store,” he murmured fondly. Dean shrugged and then spotted something off to his right. He grabbed it and showed it to Cas.

“Look, it’s you,” Dean said. He squeaked the little rubber ducky between his fingers. There was a purple shirt painted on it.

“That’s cute,” Castiel said sarcastically. He was blushing though, which gave him away.

Dean tossed the toy on the pile with the others.

“For my Ducky,” he said with a goofy grin. He turned his head and kissed Cas on the cheek.

Castiel’s blush deepened and he turned away, ducking behind Dean. Dean realized when he looked back that he had done so because the shop keep was staring at them. The older Chinese man was quiet but Dean noticed the pink tint to his face.

“Do you take credit?” Dean asked him, holding up his card.

Sometimes pretending nothing was out of the ordinary was the key to making it out with one’s dignity intact.

Dean grabbed his bag of toys as soon as the clerk handed him the card back and didn’t even bother with the receipt. He pulled Cas by the hand and out into the street.

Dean doubled over in laughter as soon as the store was out of sight, right there in the middle of the street. He held his arms around his stomach and laughed until he felt his knees hitting the pavement. Castiel was at his side, chuckling lightly. It grew in strength into all-out laughter by the time Dean was practically curled up on the ground.

“ _Do you take credit_?” Cas mimicked in Dean’s voice, breaking back into laughter.

Dean wheezed on the ground by his feet. He hit the pavement with his fist.

“Oh man! His _face_ though!” He was swept into another wave of hysterics, then spent the next three minutes catching his breath.

“That is…the most I have laughed since…” Castiel shook his head, straightening up to his full height. “I don’t know. Perhaps this is the hardest I have ever laughed,” he said.

Dean pushed himself to his feet. His face was _burning_ he was smiling so hard.

“It’s been a while for me too,” he admitted. “Sammy and I used to have laughs like that all the time as kids. We still do, just not as often,” he added.

“I am excited to meet him,” Castiel said. “You mentioned he is coming to your Halloween Party?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dean replied. They started walking again. “I was thinking I might invite a few of your friends,” he continued, “I was thinking… Anna, Marcin and his family…I was gonna ask Charlie if she could come too. I think it’d be her kind of thing.”

“You want to invite…my friends?” Castiel asked him. The tone of his voice was carefully masked, and Dean honestly couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking.

“That’s not weird or anything, is it?” he asked.

Castiel shook his head.

“No, it is…nice.” The man dipped his head and blushed.

“Yeah?” Dean pressed.

Castiel nodded. He was suddenly serious, his eyebrows pinched together in a way that caused his whole forehead to wrinkle down into the bridge of his nose. “You are better at being in a relationship than you give yourself credit for.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks at that.

“Wait. What?” he blurted. He felt a thrill rush through him. “Really? You’re serious?” His lips wagged as Castiel nodded. “What… how...? I mean…w-what?”

Nope, he wasn’t getting a coherent sentence out. He was far too flattered to string words together at the moment.

Castiel smiled warmly at him and stepped closer. The man tilted his head and looked up at Dean through squinted blue eyes.

“You are always considering my feelings and putting me first,” Castiel said quietly. His gaze dropped away. “Even when I…” he trailed off, going silent.

“Cas? What is it, man? Talk to me,” Dean said.

Castiel shook his head.

“It is nothing,” he said, “Shall we continue to our next destination?” he asked.

Dean was silent for a moment, but didn’t want to push things and ruin the mood so he just nodded and offered up a little smile.

Dean started to get curious when he first saw the small yellow sign hanging from half-way down the street. This time he kept his fat mouth shut. Sure enough, Castiel steered him right towards it.

The words _Chinatown Ice Cream Factory_ were printed both on the sign and over the top of the store.

“Dude,” Dean said with a grin, “Best date _ever_.”

Castiel just looked pleased and pulled him inside.

Whatever Dean had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t the rows of wonky ice cream flavors that awaited him—which ironically were categorized under ‘Regular Flavors’, as opposed to the much shorter ‘Exotic Flavors’ list which sported a number of traditional _American_ favorites.

“They allow sampling here as well,” Castiel said softly into his ear.

Dean didn’t wait to hear more. His hand was up in the air calling out his first request. He turned back to Cas.

“Any suggestions?” he asked.

Castiel thought about that.

“It is a difficult choice between the black sesame and the sweet ginger,” he answered. “And the more traditional green tea. I am a fan of all three.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. He waited until he could catch the store clerk’s attention again and then listed them off for a taste.

He ended up with a scoop of coconut fudge. Castiel chose the ginger, and Dean was starting to notice a pattern here…

“So, big fan of ginger?” he asked when they stepped out of the shop. They walked down the road side by side, treats in hand.

Castiel grinned and nodded.

“I like the sweet and spicy combination,” he said, “And the way it makes my whole mouth tingle.”

“I’ll make your mouth tingle,” Dean replied with a flirty smirk.

Castiel laughed and took a large lick of his ice cream.

“I am sure,” he replied offhand, like he didn’t care either way and his _dessert_ was more interesting.

Oh that was it. _That_ would not do, no sir.

Dean fell for the trap—hook, line, and…ice cream. He pulled Cas to a stop and pressed his lips to his mouth, pushing his tongue inside to get a taste of the sweet cream on his tongue. It was faintly spicy, and it most definitely _tingled_.

Dean pulled back and licked his lips. He held out his cone.

“Try mine,” he said. Castiel took a bite of the coconut fudge and then Dean moved in again, tasting it with him.

It was a hell of a lot more fun to sample ice cream this way than on individual spoons, and Dean said as much when he pulled back. Castiel chuckled softly at him but agreed.

They wandered down the street eating their ice cream and sharing tastes and kisses whenever the fancy took them. Castiel ended up with ice cream on his nose, which Dean licked off in the private alcove of a closed doorway and then proceeded to kiss him deeply.

The ice cream disappeared quickly but the opportunities to press in close to one another lingered. Cas’s hand found its way into Dean’s again as they continued down the road. After a couple twists and turns, Dean realized they were heading for the park.

Columbus Park was crowded this time of the day. Small crowds of people—most of them of Asian descent—clustered around tables or benches or rocks. A number of them were playing some kind of game that Dean didn’t recognize. Others sat around and ate or drank tea from tall thermoses and gossiped in a kaleidoscope of dialects. A trio of older men sat spread out over an equal number of benches, strange stringed instruments on their laps and sheets of music clipped to foldable stands. The sounds that emanated from their instruments were smooth and haunting in a way that was unequivocally beautiful. The men themselves seemed to be permanent fixtures in the park, just as much perhaps as the statue of _Sun Yat-sen_ that stood in its center.

They headed toward the pavilion in back. Though the structure was the largest part of the park it seemed to be for the most part ignored by its inhabitants. Dean saw fliers taped to the thick concrete pillars that announced _Tai Chi_ every morning at six, and wondered if the open hall was used more as a gathering place for events than as a hang-out destination.

Still, it was private, and that much was a welcome reprieve from the bustling alleyways of this small corner of the city. For once Dean felt like it was just them and he could breathe a little easier. Dean set his bags down and then hopped up on the railing. Castiel moved in between his legs and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, leaning into him. He reached up on his tip-toes to press his lips—still faintly sweet from the ice cream—to Dean’s.

Dean hummed as he pulled back and licked the remaining sweetness off his lips.

“We should take a picture,” he said suddenly, an idea coming to him. “Hey, grab the bag, would ya?” he asked.

Castiel shot him a questioning look but did as he requested. Dean dug around in it for a moment. He came out with the Chinese finger trap, then leaned over and lowered the bag back to the floor.

“What is that for?” Castiel asked him.

Dean just smiled and popped the toy trap on his finger and held it out to him. Castiel gave him that secret smile in return and stuck his finger in the other end. Dean pulled his back, locking them together.

“’K, c’mere. Hold it up,” Dean directed, pulling Cas around and to him. He fished out his phone and toggled the camera settings with one hand like a pro, flipping the screen around so that they could see themselves in the picture.

Castiel lifted his finger as instructed and at Dean’s next instruction of “Say ‘Ducky’,” broke into a full-face smile. Dean took a flurry of shots and then pulled Cas’s face in closer for a kiss. He grabbed what he hoped was a good shot and flipped the phone around to be sure. They were half-missing out of the frame. He showed it to Cas, who wrinkled his nose, so Dean deleted it and they tried again.

With each new shot they would vote yea or nay on the photo, and even when the picture was good and in full-frame, one of them would insist they could do better. It began as a game of ‘kissing chicken’, and turned into an excuse to continue. After a while Dean started adding funny filters to the photos and they took a number of shots—both kissing and non-kissing—with a variety of backgrounds and features.

Dean was pretty sure the one of them kissing with bear-ears was his favorite.

After a while, Dean lowered his phone and nodded to Cas.

“Give me your phone—we’ll do yours,” he said. When Castiel pulled out a _flip phone_ , however, Dean’s mouth dropped open.

“What the hell is that?” he asked.

“It is my phone,” Castiel said, showing him.

Dean’s face puckered in disgust.

“Dude, that’s _embarrassing_ ,” he said. After a short pause he’d made up his mind. “That’s it. I’m getting you a real phone.” At Castiel’s protest, Dean held up his hand. “I’m not taking no for an answer. I wanna do dumb coupley things with you and I can’t do that with you and your fricken’ _grandma_ phone.”

“It is not a grandma phone,” Castiel grumbled.

“Oh yeah? What is it then?” Dean teased him.

“It is just a phone.”

Castiel stared down at it as though he’d never considered it to be anything more than that. Dean tugged at his sleeve.

“Cas, I know it’s just a phone,” Dean said. When Cas looked up at him, he continued. “Will you let me get you a nicer one?”

Castiel’s eyes dropped in sudden shyness.

“Y-yes, alright,” he agreed.

Dean hummed and grabbed the phone from him.

“OK, let’s see what we can do in the meantime,” he said, holding the thing up and flipping it open with the flick of his thumb, “Hmm…”

Dean scrolled through the tiny phone, holding it away from Cas when the man insisted he give it back. Finally he chose something and worked it out quickly with his thumb. Then he snapped the thing shut and handed it back to Cas.

“What did you do?” Castiel demanded. He sent Dean a suspicious squint.

Dean just laughed.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said with a sly grin.

Castiel’s eyes flickered to him wearily, then back to the small device in his hand. He flipped it open and scrolled through a couple of things. His eyebrows pinched together in concentration—which was _fucking_ adorable in Dean’s personal opinion. He continued to watch in amusement as the man searched fervently for whatever he had done. Finally Cas stopped and blinked.

A small “Oh,” escaped his lips. His eyes glanced back up to Dean.

“You changed your name to…” Castiel started to say. He looked back down at the phone and blushed. “…Huggy Bear.”

“Yup,” Dean replied with a self-satisfying grin, “Ten guesses what you’re going into mine as.”

Castiel blushed deeper. He twiddled his phone in his fingers, then came to a decision.

“I would like to take a photograph,” he said, looking back up at Dean.

Dean shrugged and agreed to it, so Cas held it up and took a few shots as Dean had. The quality was much lacking in comparison, but Castiel didn’t seem to care as he selected one of them for his background. He held it up to show Dean.

“I like that one,” Dean told him, looping an arm around his neck. He pulled Cas back close against him.

“It is my favorite so far,” Castiel replied softly. The insinuation was light on his tongue. _So far_.

Dean just smiled to beat hell and nudged him gently.

“So, what’s next on the list?” he asked.

“Next is…dumplings,” Castiel answered.

“ _Dumplings_?” Dean echoed. If the word could float above his head in comic book graphics it would be bolded in all caps and fucking _sparkling._

“I thought you might like the sound of that,” Castiel said with a crooked smile. Dean was getting to know that smile on his face today. It was the smile that said Cas was secretly pleased and perhaps a little smug about having done a good job in making him happy.

Dean hopped off the railing and grabbed Cas’s hand, pulling him out of the pavilion.

Just as they were passing one of the tables out in the main area of the park, an older woman called out to Dean.

“You! Pretty boy! You play mahjong? You beat my son, you win big!” She gestured to her son, a quiet young man with longer black hair that fell into his eyes. He sat to her right at the table, twirling a _mahjong_ piece around in his fingers and staring at it intently.

The middle-aged Chinese woman beckoned Dean closer.

“Only twenty dollar,” she said.

“Hah, _no_ ,” Dean said, holding up a hand and shaking his head, “No thank you. Not for me.”

“You, skinny boy!” The woman called next. She pointed at Cas. “You play? You win big!”

“Me?” Castiel said, pointing to himself. He seemed to be reeling from the name the woman had called him.

Dean chuckled at the woman’s tenacity and pulled out his wallet. Her attention snapped back to him in an instant.

“You change mind?” she asked. Dean laughed again.

“No, but I _am_ in the market for a personal assistant,” Dean said. He dug in his wallet for one of his new business cards—printed and delivered fresh that morning—and held it out to the older woman’s son. “What’dya say kid, you want a real job?” Dean asked him.

The kid took the card and stared at it for a long moment, then looked up at Dean with wide eyes. “Yes! Oh my God, yes! Please, anything to get me out of here. I mean—I’ll do a good job. I’m really smart.”

“It’s true, he’s _extremely_ smart,” the older woman piped in, “Top of his class. And his SAT scores were nearly perfect!” Her voice had changed and her accent completely disappeared. Her English was suddenly smooth and grammatically flawless. Clearly she’d been conning them up until now.

“5 points!” the kid muttered, “I missed the one question. And I should have known the answer. Should have known…” he trailed off and shook his head. Dean cleared his throat and the kid jerked his eyes back up. “Sorry. Um. I’d be honored to work for you,” he said.

“What’s your name, kid?” Dean asked.

“Kevin,” the kid replied, sticking out his hand, “Kevin Tran.”

“Well, _Kevin Tran_ ,” Dean said, taking his hand, “How about you come down to the office on Monday for an interview and we can go over everything?”

“Yes! Okay! Um, what time?” Kevin blurted.

“Anytime,” Dean said, chuckling. “Call ahead if you want. I’m there all day.”

“Yes, that sounds good. I’ll call ahead.” Kevin hesitated. “Maybe I’ll be there at 9:30,” he added. He caught the wince on Dean’s face and licked his lips nervously, reconsidering. “10:30?” Dean smiled tightly and nodded. Kevin gave him a relieved grin. “Okay, I’ll be there,” he said.

Dean waved and said, “Looking forward to it,” and then grabbed Castiel’s hand.

“Come on, _skinny boy_ ,” he teased.

Castiel shot him a dirty look as they exited the park.

“I am not that skinny,” he insisted in a gruff tone.

“Hang out with me more and you won’t be,” Dean said. He grabbed Castiel’s ass and gave it a little squeeze. “I’m gonna fatten the pants off you, just you wait.”

“I am not interested in being overweight either,” Castiel told him. His cheeks flushed red and Dean laughed.

“Duly noted, Goldilocks. So, which way?”

Castiel led him past the greater part of Chinatown to a well-known dim sum restaurant towards its edges. What followed was an hour of Dean popping dumplings into his mouth whole, cheeks chipmunked near to bursting, and more than once talking with his mouth full about how God damn _good_ everything was.

Cas certainly knew how to charm a guy.

Dean left the restaurant feeling full and warm and happy, the soft tingle of _Tsingtao_ beer lingering on his tongue. His arm looped around Cas, who held their leftovers. Castiel pointed their direction and they headed back toward the heart of Chinatown.

“Where to next?” Dean asked him.

“There is one small errand I must run,” Cas said, “And then our last stop of the day.”

He led them to a small herbalist store. They ducked through the doorway into a crowded room filled with shelves of wooden containers. Castiel walked up to the counter and pulled a piece of paper with Chinese lettering from his wallet.

“I’m here to pick up an order for ‘Castiel’,” he told the old woman behind the counter, handing her the paper.

“Yes, you—singing boy,” the older woman answered as she read what it said. She grabbed one of the wooden canisters from behind her and carried it back to the counter where she then began weighing out a small pile of dried herbs.

“What’s that for?” Dean asked, leaning over his shoulder. He rested his chin on Cas’s shoulder and felt it when Cas turned and grinned at his nearness.

“It is tea to help relax and strengthen my voice,” he explained.

“You ever need a voice coach, I can help,” Dean told him with a dirty grin.

The shop keep looked up suddenly.

“We have tea strengthen _yang_ ,” she said sharply. “Make good sex.”

Castiel let out a strangled jumble of words at that. Dean just laughed and straightened up. He gripped Castiel by the shoulders.

“No thanks, lady, we’re good,” he replied.

“Strong sex,” the woman insisted, “Guarantee happy customer.”

Dean laughed again and shook his head.

“Trust me, we don’t need it,” he told her firmly.

The woman frowned and continued what she was doing. When Castiel paid her she tried again.

“Sure no need?” she said. She didn’t say for what. It was clear what she meant. Castiel looked to Dean, uncomfortable and at a loss as to what to tell her. She didn’t seem to want to give up.

“Lady, are you _blind_?” Dean asked the shop keep. He wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist. “This guy’s like a walking _herbal supplement_ if you catch my drift.”

He grabbed the bag from the counter for Cas and walked him out of the store with his arms still looped around him.

Castiel was quiet as they exited. He seemed upset all of a sudden, and Dean let him go so that he could face him.

“Cas, what is it?” he asked softly.

“Did you mean what you said back there?” Castiel asked him quietly. He seemed troubled. Dean’s brow pinched together sharply in concern.

“You mean that stuff about not needing some weird Chinese sex drug?” Dean asked him. Castiel nodded hesitantly. “Course I did,” Dean answered, “Why?”

“Nothing,” Castiel said, shaking his head.

Dean’s conversation with Sam returned in a flash.

“Cas,” he said, licking his lips, “Is this about the other night? Cuz I told you, I’m fine waiting for you to be ready.” He grabbed Cas’s hand and gave it a squeeze to make his point. “You take as long as you need, babe. I’ll be right here.”

Castiel nodded and took a shuddering breath. He blinked rapidly and Dean could see moisture behind his eyes. He scooped Cas’s face into his hands.

“Hey, Cas. Hey,” Dean called softly. He pressed a kiss to his wrinkled forehead and rubbed his thumbs against the scruff of his ever-present five-o’clock shadow. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, that’s not… I am…relieved,” Castiel replied. He shook his head. “I was worried you might think…” He trailed off again, unable to put a voice to his fears.

Dean spoke before he could speak them aloud.

“Dude, there’s nothing wrong with you. I know when we finally do it, it’ll feel right. And it’ll be _awesome_. _Epically awesome_. So awesome you’re not gonna want to stop and we’ll end up coming back here to ask these clowns for sex _reducers._ ”

He kissed Castiel’s nose, hoping to lighten the mood. It was wet with his tears. He tried again.

“Cas, we’ll get there when the time is right. You’re the one who said we’ll figure things out together.”

At that, Castiel nodded. He took another shaky breath.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I don’t mean to…just, the last time I allowed myself to get this close to someone…”

“He broke your heart,” Dean finished for him. Castiel nodded again.

“He left without saying goodbye,” Castiel said softly.

_Oh._ Dean’s eyes widened. That explained a lot.

“Cas, you know I would never do something like that to you,” Dean said. “I—” he broke off, realizing what he’d just been about to say. Before he could think of something else, Castiel was continuing.

“Yes, I know that,” Cas was saying. It sounded rather like he was attempting to convince himself of that fact, however. “I realize the chances of it happening again are slim. I know you are a different person.”

“If I’m pissed at you, I’m gonna say it, for one,” Dean said.

“Yes, I…I get that,” Castiel continued, “And I realize it isn’t fair to you to keep comparing you to someone from my past. I know it isn’t rational...”

“You got your feelings hurt, Cas,” Dean said, “That shit’s not rational. Never is.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Cas agreed.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay with me,” Dean told him, “I want us to be real with each other. No lies, no secrets. Sound good?” He was still holding Castiel’s face in his hands, so he felt the warm flush under his skin when he blushed. They slid up his cheeks as Castiel nodded hesitantly.

“Yes, I can promise that,” Castiel said. He breathed out, shoulders relaxing as his trepidation drained away. Dean felt his own fears follow.

“Good.” Dean dropped a light kiss on his lips. “So? What’s next on the agenda?”

“Next is…a surprise,” Castiel answered.

Dean grinned.

“Well, shit. What the hell are we waiting for?” he said.

Their last destination was a narrow storefront painted a dusty red. Large silver Chinese characters were posted across its length with the English in white underneath. Dean read it out loud with increasing excitement.

“ _New Beef King_!?” Dean turned to Cas. “What the heck is this place?” he asked. He squinted back at the front of the store. Through the window he could see stacks of red, sticky-looking sheets. Dean glanced up to the sign, then back down to the red sheets.

“Oh, no fricken’ _way_ ,” he blurted when it hit him.

Cas had brought him to a beef jerky place.

“It is a good thing I’m full of dumplings,” Dean said, his voice dropping low as they walked into the store. Sheets of jerky were stacked behind the counter, most on trays but a few in canisters along the top of the plastic case that held the goods. Dean bent over and read them out loud. “Teriyaki…spicy curry… _oyster_? Man, not sure about that last one.”

He turned back to Castiel and grinned.

“It’s a _very_ good thing you didn’t bring me here first,” he said.

Castiel smiled back at him.

“Yes, I thought it might be wise to come here last.”

“You guessed right. Two hours ago I would have bought this entire store,” Dean said. He turned back to the case. “Hell, I might do that anyway.”

They made it out with a significantly lesser amount, though Dean had to admit he _might_ have gone a little overboard. He’d grabbed a pound of nearly everything in the store…including the strange oyster flavor which he had been assured by the owner was extremely tasty, and a heaping three pounds of the spiciest jerky on the menu. A couple of things he was planning on shipping to Sammy for his midterms. The rest was going to fill up his mostly-empty cupboards. Dean figured it would get him through the first week at the new office.

They headed back uptown after that, grabbing the subway just in time to catch an express train to Fifth Avenue. The sun was setting by then, its last golden rays sinking behind the tall skyscrapers while they were in the shadow of the subway station. When they emerged it had winked out of existence and the city was abruptly transformed into the soft yellow of street lamps and the dusty grays of the trees lining Central Park.

They paused outside the station, the date over but neither wanting to call it a night. Dean hesitated only slightly before asking Castiel if he would like to come back to the apartment with him.

“We could watch more Jackie Chan,” Dean said. _And make out more_ , he thought. His true intentions must have read on his face, however, because Castiel laughed lightly and blushed in the lamplight.

“Yes, okay,” he agreed regardless, looking down at the sidewalk.

They took a shortcut through the park, Castiel’s hand in his as they strode under the dim wrought-iron lamps. Their light spilled upwards into the trees lining the path, their branches a curtain of reds and golds and deep greens overhead. The temperature had dropped to where Dean could see his breath and the smell of frost was heavy in the air. It wouldn’t be long before he would need a heavier coat.

They passed the doorman on the way in. Dean nodded to him in greeting. The grumpy British man looked up and grunted as they walked by. Then his eyes flickered to their joined hands and he let out a small bark of laughter.

“Evenin’ boys,” he greeted. Then he was tipping his hat with a bit of a flourish and grinning like the devil at them.

Dean felt his eyebrow rise into his hairline. Was it just him or had the gesture been a bit…colorful? He glanced to Castiel. The man’s blue eyes were wide. He’d noticed it too.

“Guess I don’t have to worry about him blabbing to anyone,” Dean remarked.

“No, I suppose not,” Castiel agreed.

Dean frowned as a thought occurred to him. The doorman had a sort of evil gleam in his eyes. Perhaps Dean ought to pay him off just in case he was a gabber. 

The elevator doors dinged closed and there was silence for a long moment. Dean was nervous all of a sudden—for some unknown reason he couldn’t name—and glanced to Castiel out of the corner of his eye, curious to see what the other man was doing. Castiel stared at the floor, hands clasped together in front of him. He was twiddling his thumbs together and seemed to be concentrating on his breathing. Then his eyes flickered up to Dean’s and locked onto his gaze. There was something in his eyes, an edge of desire lingering behind the deep blue of his irises. Castiel drew in another even breath, his lips trembling slightly from the strain of keeping it contained, and that’s when it clicked.

Neither of them had any intentions of watching a movie.

Dean broke the tension in the elevator by pulling Castiel in to him by the collar of his trench coat. Castiel made a small muffled sound of desperation and then his mouth yielded open, allowing Dean’s tongue to slip over the rough, half-chapped threshold of his lips.

When the doors dinged open, Dean pulled Cas eagerly down the hall to his apartment. He felt his back hit the door. Castiel was on him like a man possessed, lips seeking hungrily for purchase and unwilling to let him go. Dean fumbled the keys out of his pocket and nearly dropped them, tearing away for the torturously long moments it took to jam the key into the lock and swing the door open. Then they were falling through it, lips locked together. The door slammed against the wall where he had kicked it open. Castiel groped blindly behind him for the edge—found it and swung it closed. Dean kicked off his shoes and dropped his bags to the floor.

Then his hands were in Castiel’s hair, bracing them together as his lips found new purchase against Castiel’s mouth. Dean felt a wave of desire hit him in a rush. He tried to hold it back but it was insistent—all-encompassing. He pressed forward and drew Castiel’s mouth open wider with a drag of his lips, slipped his tongue inside and shoved it against his. He felt Castiel’s breath hitch. The man made a small grunting noise and then Dean heard the sound of a plastic bag hitting the floor. Then there was an arm looped around his back and a hand gripping the base of his neck, pulling him in. He drew his hands up the back of Cas’s shirt, ruffling it up under his long tan coat. He slid them out and then slipped the coat off his shoulders, tossing it onto the bench by the door. He only broke the kiss for a second, but Castiel was there when he turned his head back, capturing his mouth hungrily—wet and needy and more than a little forceful.

Then Castiel’s hands were at his waistband and he was unbuttoning Dean’s pants. Dean’s breath caught as his cold hands slid under his boxers.

“Woah, Cas, hey,” Dean gasped, pulling back from the kiss, “Don’t you think we should slow down? Before things get too…you know?”

Castiel blinked, eyes shaded in arousal. He looked down at his hand in Dean’s pants and then back up to Dean. He considered the question for a long moment, eyes half-lidded as he breathed harshly through his nose. At last he gave a little shake of his head.

“No.” The word was almost a growl, and Dean felt a thrum of excitement rush through him. Then Cas’s other hand was in his hair and lips were hungrily grabbing at his, dragging them open again. A tongue slipped past Dean’s open mouth and he groaned, opening it further and pressing his tongue against the explorative one inside. Castiel pressed closer, caught his bottom lip between his teeth and pulled it back, teasing. His hand in Dean’s pants moved down, then up again against his length.

Blue, half-lidded eyes flickered up to meet green. They were both breathing hard, the air between them warm and heavy. Then lips were on his again and they were moving.

The bags on the floor rustled as they brushed past—Dean’s stocking feet sliding across the polished hardwood floor—the souls of Castiel’s shoes scraping backward down the hall. Long, irregular footsteps echoed through the wide corridor as they fell into each other, lips entwined and hands in hair—hands in shirts—hands _under_ shirts. Dean felt his jacket and over-shirt hit the floor with a soft _flump_ of fabric as they moved deeper into the apartment and back toward the bedroom.

Dean slid a hand under Castiel’s ass and hitched him up around his hips, his other hand under Cas’s armpit, hoisting him up into his arms. The man’s shirt came with it, half-bare chest pressing against Dean. Castiel looped his around Dean’s neck, gripping his far shoulder as he braced himself—panting, eyelids drooping as his warm breath washed over Dean’s lips. He dipped down again and captured them hungrily—wet, furious kisses and a drag of teeth pulling his bottom lip back, letting it go with a snap of flesh and then diving back in with his tongue to lick against the inside of Dean’s mouth. Sharp bristles rubbed against Dean’s lips—his cheeks, his chin—the prickly barbs rough against his skin. Smooth tendrils of hair parted under his fingers. Dean liked the contrast of it all.

Castiel made a slight whimpering noise as the hard nub of his bare nipple grated against the soft fabric of Dean’s worn black tee. He squirmed around Dean’s waist and then there was the echoing _thump, thump_ of his shoes hitting the floor. They were somewhere in the hallway—Dean was still getting used to his new apartment and his sense of direction was screwed to hell but he still managed to find the doorway to the master bedroom and pass through it.

Castiel was quickly slipping from his grasp. Dean lowered him to the floor, body sliding against his all the way down, a drag of bare torso against his chest and Castiel’s half-hard cock pressed against the front of his pants as his feet hit the floor. Dean had an arm looped around his back, keeping the man flush against him. He was up on his tip toes, leaning in against Dean so that he was slightly taller in the moment. Dean dipped in to taste his neck, sucking at the skin under his jaw. Castiel tilted his head back and inhaled sharply, trembling in his arms—Dean’s hand was at his lower back, pressing down and in, pressing Castiel closer to him as he trailed kisses across his jawline and down the other side of his neck. He pulled teeth at skin, tugging soft flesh into a red peak and then soothing it with his tongue a second later. Castiel growled deep in his chest and nipped at him in turn.

Dean slid his hand under Castiel’s t-shirt and rumpled it up over his chest. Indigo. He looked awesome in indigo. The deep blue-purple always turned his eyes a shade deeper. Dean tugged it off, mussing up Castiel’s hair even more as he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Castiel took a breath and looked at him, then dropped his gaze to his hands, which slid under Dean’s tee and drew it slowly up and over his head. Dean raised his arms obediently as he did, eyes locked on Castiel’s partially opened mouth, on the quick rise-and-fall of his chest.

The shirt dropped to the floor, and Castiel’s eyes flickered up. For the first time he seemed a little weary, but then Dean’s hands were in his hair, fingers at the sides of his face, and he gasped into Dean’s mouth.

Bare chests pressed together. Castiel’s scraped against the blond fuzz of Dean’s chest hair. His was fur, longer darker strands that drew Dean’s nipples taut as they rubbed against it. He made a noise in the back of his throat—a low, heady moan.

_“Dean.”_

Dean licked down, thumbs finding the taught nubs of Castiel’s nipples. His mouth followed, tongue circling the tip and then flicking at it delicately. He ran his teeth over it next. Castiel arched against him and moaned loudly, panting Dean’s name. He made little grunting noises every time Dean teased the sensitive tip with either teeth or tongue.

Another throaty moan and Dean moved to the opposite nipple, thumbing the other to keep it hard.

“Oh, _God_ , Dean—!” Castiel’s voice strained upward at the end, cutting off into a panting whimper.

Dean smiled against his skin and hummed. He continued to tease Castiel’s nipple with his tongue.

Dean stopped suddenly and pulled back, breathing heavily. He could feel Castiel’s hard-on pressing into his thigh.

“Dean, don’t stop,” Castiel panted, arching up against him. His lips were parted, plush and bruised red where Dean had been kissing him. His fingers tugged at Dean’s waistband, pulling him back in.

“Cas, you’re sure—?” Dean started to ask.

“I’m sure,” Castiel interrupted him.

His hands were suddenly at Dean’s front, fingers pulling—twitching—grasping at fabric and finally— _finally_ finding their way in again. Dean gasped when Castiel’s fingers found him under his shorts. He ground into him, rolling his hips and attempting to draw every last bit of sensation as he could.

His jeans were suddenly shoved around his thighs. Castiel’s legs hit against the foot of the bed, knocking him off balance—and then they were falling back onto the soft duvet. Jeans and underwear were kicked off in a frustration of fabric—socks lost in the pant legs.

Hips bearing down with a rolling, crushing weight. Too heavy, too much, and Dean tried to push off, to levy some of the weight onto his elbows but Castiel grabbed him back down, fingertips digging into the hard muscles of his back, pulling him in closer.

Dean reached down, slid along Castiel’s thigh and slipped under it. Only a slight pressure was needed to get Cas to open to him, knee hitched up, legs splayed wide. Dean’s fingers groped across the thick muscle of his thigh and between Cas’s legs. He found what he was searching for against his own navel, hard and waiting. Red and swollen flesh leaked pre-cum like a levy breaking open. Castiel gasped as he twisted a palm up its shaft.

Hands pulled him up to meet Castiel’s lips, hard at his mouth. Soft grunts and mewls of pleasure told Dean to keep going. Teeth grated down his jawline, under his chin. Biting at his neck, pulling at flesh and then sucking at the point where his pulse beat rapid-fire under his skin. Castiel’s hands dipped down, found him raw and ready, tugged up and slid down to match Dean’s own pace.

Heated fever bloomed on his skin. More—he wanted more. Dean pulled back, reaching for the nightstand. The items they required were there waiting for him. He crawled back to Cas and hovered over him, dropping the bottle of lube to the bed. He held the condom up between them.

“You or me?” Dean asked breathlessly, “I don’t care.”

“You,” Cas replied, breath coming out in a gasp. “I want you, Dean,” he said.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean replied with a grin, looking down between them. He pressed his lips to Castiel’s, slipped his tongue inside. For once the kiss was leisured. Dean wanted to taste him fully. Last thing he wanted was to rush this.

“Just…go slow,” Castiel said when he pulled back. His face was suddenly scrunched up with worry lines. “It has been a long time since I have…done anything like this.” He looked away, embarrassed.

Dean turned Castiel’s face back to him.

“Cas, it’s fine,” he said softly. He pressed his lips briefly against Cas’s mouth, gathering him up into a soothing kiss. “I’ll be gentle.” He took a breath, paused. “We don’t have to go all the way,” he said.

“No, I want to,” Castiel said quickly.

Dean leaned down to kiss him again. His palm went to the hard line of flesh between his legs. He gripped it firmly in his hand and moved up along the shaft, his thumb brushing over its head.

Castiel twitched a little under him and let out a soft gasp. Dean stopped and nuzzled into his neck.

“You okay there, Ducky?” he murmured.

Castiel took in a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I am…suddenly very nervous.”

“We don’t have to,” Dean said again.

Castiel shook his head.

“I want to,” he insisted. He took a deep breath. “I will be fine, Dean. The nervousness, it will pass.”

Dean frowned a little. He was starting to suspect Castiel’s feelings didn’t have anything to do with being nervous about sex, but he honestly didn’t know what was going on in that head of his.

“Cas, come on, talk to me,” Dean said gently. He leaned back and propped himself up on his elbows. “You were all hands-off before. What changed?”

Castiel flushed red and looked away but said nothing. Dean tried to see things from his perspective, tried to work out what he could be thinking. From their conversation earlier…

Dean drew a breath and tried his damnedest to hit the mark gently.

“Cas, I don’t need you to sleep with me,” he said.

Castiel’s eyes flickered back to his. Confused, questioning. Dean pressed on.

“I want to,” he said, letting out a huff of laughter, “God knows I want to, but I don’t _need_ you to.” Dean carded his fingers through Cas’s hair, trailed them down the side of his face and held it, palm cupping his cheek. “We could stop and eat leftover Chinese food and watch stupid movies until one am and I’d be fine with that,” he said.

For the first time in a number of minutes, Castiel spoke.

“You think I am doing this merely to please you?” he asked, voice deep and strangely powerful. It reverberated through Dean’s chest, sending little shivers up his spine.

Dean furrowed his brow and looked down at him.

“Well…aren’t you?” he asked.

Castiel’s eyes lowered, his lids drooping down.

“No, Dean,” Castiel said, “I don’t know if you have noticed but…I tend to do exactly what I want.”

“Except when your boss tells you otherwise,” Dean argued.

“That was different,” Castiel insisted, eye flickering back up to his.

“You really want this?” Dean asked, imploring, “We’re not rushing things here? Cuz I mean, it’s only been two days since you pulled the E-brake, man.”

Castiel smiled—a small, shy thing that accentuated the light pink blush on his cheeks.

“It does not feel like it has been two days,” Castiel replied, “After today it feels like it has been…I don’t know. A week, maybe more.”

“Huh,” Dean said intelligently, not getting it.

Castiel’s brow drew together in deep lines as he attempted to explain.

“Dean, in my last relationship I was…pressured into having sex,” Castiel confessed, “I kept telling him no and when I finally gave in, things fell apart very soon after.” Castiel trailed off. His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I was worried the same thing would happen should I…allow myself to become intimate with you. I wanted to wait until I was absolutely sure.”

“And that took…one afternoon?” Dean asked, incredulous.

Castiel shook his head.

“It had nothing to do with time,” he said, “After everything that happened today… Dean, I realized something. I don’t feel pressured when I’m with you. I feel…safe.”

“Okay,” Dean said, licking his lips. The admission sent an excited buzz through him, the edges of his mouth tugging up into an automatic smile. “I mean, that’s good, cuz I never meant to make you feel that way. I mean, I never even thought…sex is just…a way to have a good time, or…a way to show I care about someone, you know? I guess I never even considered it could be different for you.” He held his hand to Castiel’s face, thumb brushing over the bristles on his cheek. “If I knew that going in, I wouldn’t have made so many moves on you.”

Castiel shook his head again and smiled that secret smile of his.

“There is no need to apologize,” he said softly. “To be honest…I have wanted to since the opera house,” Castiel admitted. His breath caught. “No, before that.” His eyes flickered up. “You are nearly irresistible in a hotel robe, do you realize that?”

“Aww, hell.” Dean laughed, belly pressing down against Castiel’s as the irony of the situation escaped in long, huffy whoops of laughter. “We should role play sometime. You and that bellboy uniform. I mean, have you _seen_ the way those pants fit your ass? And that red coat. I dunno, there’s something about it…”

Castiel laughed through his nose, body vibrating under Dean. His smile turned coy, eyes flirtatious.

“Yes, I own a mirror,” he answered. His brows pitched together suddenly. He ran his hands up Dean’s sides. “It really is just nerves, Dean,” he said. “It has been eight years for me, and I was a virgin the last time. This is only my second experience and you are…we will say ‘ _well-versed’_ in this department.”

Dean let out a short laugh.

“Yeah, I get it, I’m a huge slut,” he said. He bit off the _‘sorry’_ on his tongue, because it wasn’t going to get them anywhere. Before he could think of something else to say, Castiel was continuing.

“I am worried I will…disappoint you,” Castiel said quietly. His eyes were lowered, and there was a faint frown on his face.

Dean furrowed his brow. It seemed Sam had been at least partially right about Cas feeling intimidated by his sexual experience.

“Not possible,” Dean told him. He offered the man a reassuring smile. Something niggled at him, though. Dean furrowed his brow, peering down at the man looking up at him, blue eyes kind and trusting.

Perhaps he was telling the truth and his nerves really _were_ about his experience level, but after what he just said, Dean was willing to bet it was more than that—that maybe Castiel didn’t realize there was still something holding him back.

A memory flashed through Dean’s mind, and suddenly it hit him.

“Cas,” Dean said softly, looking down at him and stroking the side of his face, “Will you stay the night with me?”

Castiel’s breath hitched, and he arched a little under Dean, pressing up against him. Dean wasn’t sure Cas knew he was doing it—his body’s reaction to the promise of a night together was practically automatic.

“…I have church in the morning,” Cas replied after a brief pause, “And then work at the kitchen.” He paused again, considering. “I suppose I could skip it.”

“What, skip church to spend the morning in bed with me?” Dean said, laughing. “You heathen. Anyway, I was planning on tagging along with you tomorrow. Long as you’re okay with that.” He dipped down and grinned into Castiel’s skin, lips brushing against the tender skin under his jaw. “I like listening to you sing. And I was looking forward to hanging out with Charlie again,” he said.

“You mean that?” Castiel asked him.

“Yeah, course I do,” Dean replied. He dropped another soft kiss to the man’s jawline. “So? How about I make you breakfast in the morning? Omelets sound good? Or would you prefer something else?”

“You can cook?” Castiel blurted out.

Dean snorted against his neck. Cas squirmed under him, letting out a snuff of laughter that said it had tickled.

“’Course I can cook,” Dean replied. “So, what’ll it be? I’m taking orders now.”

He pulled back and smiled down at Cas. The man’s blue eyes were bright and crinkled at the edges, the smile on his face genuinely happy. The nervousness had drained away in him so that he was now completely relaxed under Dean.

Just like when Dean had promised him two weeks for a kiss.

“Yes, alright,” Castiel said. “An omelet sounds delicious.”

“’Kay, omelets it is,” Dean declared.

He leaned down for another kiss. This time when Castiel met him he did so hungrily, holding nothing back. The nervousness was gone, and in its place was raw desire.

Dean kissed down his chest to his navel, then grasped Castiel between the legs. He tossed the condom aside for now, far more interested in pleasing his partner than getting his rocks off at the moment. If this was only Castiel’s second time and his last sucked to hell and back…well then, Dean wanted to give him something to _really_ remember.

“Dean, I thought you— _oh_!”

Castiel broke off into a cry of pleasure as Dean licked his head and twirled his tongue around its crown. His hand gripped the base of his penis and stroked slowly. He took a slow lick up Castiel’s full length, drawing a sound out of the man that echoed off the bedroom walls. Dean grinned. He was just getting started. He licked around the length of him again to get things nice and lubed up, then tipped his head forward and swallowed him whole.

Castiel jerked under him and let out a cry, fists clinging to the bed sheets.

“ _Dean!_ Dean, oh!”

The noises coming from him had Dean humming in his throat and working him quicker. He paused briefly to stick his fingers in his mouth. Castiel quieted and tilted his head up to see what he was doing. Dean grinned up at him and pushed a finger into his anus.

“ _Oh!_ ”

Castiel convulsed under him as Dean’s finger rubbed over his prostate. He pushed a second finger into the tight opening. Castiel clenched around him and trembled, crying out in pleasure again as Dean’s fingers slid over that magic spot.

He knew it wouldn’t take long. Dean’s tongue slid around his shaft, fingers pumping in and out in a slow, even rhythm, fingers gliding over the smooth nub of his prostate. Every time he hit it Castiel’s hips bucked up into his mouth, and he swallowed him down. Castiel’s pants grew faster, the whimpers and cries at every thrust more frantic. A hand found Dean’s hair and grasped the short strands, drawing a moan from him. The sound reverberated in his throat around the head, and Castiel shuddered as he felt it.

“Dean, I’m going to—ahh— _ahhhh!!_ ”

Dean felt the warm liquid shoot down his throat. He kept going until Castiel relaxed under him, body going limp. Castiel let out a satisfied sigh, and that’s when he pulled off.

“You…I tried to…” Cas was still breathing heavily. He gulped in air and forced out the words caught in his chest. “I’m sorry. I should have had more control. That must have been unpleasant.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean asked him. He crawled up so that he was laying alongside Cas.

“You s-swallowed…” Castiel’s face flushed and he seemed too embarrassed to continue.

“Oh yeah, _that_ ,” Dean said. He grinned wickedly. “Would it gross you out if I said I liked it?”

Castiel was watching him with slatted eyes. Dean grinned and wiped at his mouth with his fingers, smearing the remains of cum across his bottom lip. He licked it clean. “It was _hot_ ,” Dean told him emphatically.

Dean placed a kiss on his lips, the residue of his cum still thick in his mouth. Castiel moaned a little and arched up against him.

“Dean, I thought you were going to…” Castiel trailed off, embarrassed to say it out loud. Dean could guess what he was trying to say well enough though.

“What, fuck you?” he said. He laughed. “Dude, that was all just _foreplay_.” He grinned lasciviously. “I’m just getting’ _started_ on you.”

Castiel’s breath caught at that. Dean watched in self-satisfaction as his penis twitched in excitement. Hardening again already.

“Heh,” Dean said smugly, “Knew it.”

Castiel blushed deeply and shifted next to him.

“Dean.”

Dean leaned in to kiss him, a hand covering the hardness resting against his navel. He stroked up and down, tongue rolling against Castiel’s and swallowing the soft moan he sighed into Dean’s mouth. A hand gripped his side, Castiel’s fingers digging into his bare skin as he stroked down again.

Dean moved lower to his neck, tongue trailing down the straining muscle of his sterno-mastoid to his collarbone. He nibbled at the tender spot, grazing the sharp edge of his collarbone with his teeth and soothing it with his tongue. Then he moved lower, to his chest.

Dean had already established the sensitivity of Castiel’s nipples, but he hadn’t been lying the other day—he could _happily_ spend hours on this man’s chest. Dean licked his lips and then dipped back down with his mouth, taking his time…

Castiel was practically pudding when he was finished, and Dean had the loveliest mental playlist of all the soft sighs and sweet moans that pretty, _dirty_ mouth of his could make.

It was an easy job to roll him over and start on his back…

Castiel groaned into the sheets as Dean trailed his tongue down his spine.

“Dean,” he moaned, trembling under him. His back was sheen with a fine layer of sweat. “ _Dean_.”

Dean hummed against his skin and dipped lower, into the concave of his lower back and then up the mounded hill of his ass. It rose plump and flushed under him, covered in the finest layer of peach fuzz. His cheeks dimpled on the sides. Dean cupped one in his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. His lips followed, tongue dipping into the small pit of his dimple. He dragged his mouth up and across and down the other side, leaving a wet trail of saliva behind him. Then he parted them with his thumbs and licked generously from his balls to his anus.

Castiel lurched under him and cried out. Dean grinned—he hadn’t been expecting that. It was a move Dean loved to use to make his partner squirm, and Castiel did not disappoint. The man panted and whined into the sheets, begging Dean to do it again.

Dean obliged and again Castiel cried out in a loud moan. His forehead dropped to the mattress and he breathed in deeply, attempting to find an anchor in the heady ecstasy he was experiencing. Dean didn’t allow him the chance to come down—he flicked his tongue at Cas’s perineum, then licked a strip up and around his puckering hole. Castiel groaned and shuddered under him, begging for more.

Dean moved back up with his tongue and while pressing his mouth to Cas’s shoulder, he pushed a finger inside of him.

Dean stretched him open slowly, taking almost as long as he had on his front.

When he was butter again, Dean grabbed the lube and the condom from where they rested on the bed sheets and prepared himself.

He looked up at Cas just as he was rolling the condom onto his dick.

“Ready?” Dean asked him. He allowed the man plenty of time to say no.

Castiel nodded quickly.

“Yes. Please, Dean, stop teasing me,” the man pleaded. His voice held a high, raspy edge.

Dean laughed and nuzzled into his hair.

“Never,” he said cheekily.

He certainly wasn’t done now. Dean propped himself up over Cas, straddling the man’s hips. He ground down against him, dragging his cock down between his balls and then up against the base of his ass.

“ _Uhnngg_ , _Dean_ ,” Castiel moaned, straining his head back as his body arched under the man tormenting him with his low-hanging fruit.

Dean just chuckled lightly and then when he saw Castiel gathering a breath to beg him again, he grabbed the base of his cock and angled up into him.

He went slow, pushing only the tip of his cock a couple inches into him on the first thrust. Castiel tensed under him and panted, eyes squeezing shut at the sudden tight and burning sensation. Dean kissed his neck and shushed him, urging him to relax. Then he rolled his hips slowly, gently, and pushed in a little further. He held Castiel to his chest, hand over his sternum as they moved together.

_“Ah..ahh!_ ” Castiel let out small cries with each slow roll of his hips. His hair was sweat-damp at the edges, his neck craned back so that the back of his head pressed against Dean’s shoulder. Dean held him closer and moved again.

He placed an open-mouthed kiss at Cas’s ear and whispered huskily into it.

“Does that feel good, Cas?” he breathed.

“Ahh—y-yes, Dean. Please—more. I want more!” Castiel begged, eyes screwed shut. Dean obliged and rocked his hips forward powerfully, drawing a guttural moan out of Cas.

Dean grabbed him around the front and stroked up in time to the next thrust.

“Dean! Dean…! _Dean!_ ” His name tore from Castiel’s lips in a steady stream, the single syllable like a sacred chant, as though magic might occur should he say it enough times.

“Cas,” Dean breathed against him, voice raspy and thick with desire. “Cas… _Cas_.”

“Dean!”

Dean felt it when he came. His hips jerked forward at the sudden clench around his cock and he shuddered, letting out a loud, grating moan as he was forced over the edge. He rode the high as long as he could, then collapsed over Castiel’s back, panting heavily.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, lips at Castiel’s skin. He grinned into it and pressed a kiss to the spot, claiming it as his in the moment. He pulled Castiel closer against his chest, his hand still pressed into the middle of it, over his sternum. _Over his heart._

“That was…invigorating,” Castiel panted.

Dean barked out in laughter.

“Try _hot_ ,” he suggested. “We’re talking demon motorcycle, trails of _fire_ hot,” he added.

Castiel hummed under him.

“Yes, that is what I meant,” he said.

He squirmed under Dean, who rose up off of him so that he could roll over to face him. Castiel was smiling softly up at him, his blue eyes big and wide and bright. He reached up with both hands and dragged Dean down to meet his lips.

Dean lowered back over him, hands on either sides of his head and chest pressed fully against his as he sought purchase on that plush, wet mouth…

Long minutes later, but not so long that the sweat had chilled on his skin, Dean felt something jab into his thigh. He pulled back and looked down between them. Castiel followed his gaze, and when Dean looked back up to him, his lips were twisted into a flirtatious smirk.

“Again?” Castiel rasped.

Dean stared down at him in surprise.

“Seriously?” he said. He blinked down at Castiel in surprise. Who was this guy, the energizer bunny? At Castiel’s eager nod, Dean swallowed and licked his lips. “Hell yes. I didn’t think you’d be up for it.”

“I didn’t think I would be either,” Castiel said, still looking down between them. His eyes flickered back up to Dean’s. “It seems we were both wrong.”

This time Dean didn’t mess around with foreplay. He grabbed another condom and then gripped Castiel under the thigh and shoved right in.

After a few thrusts Dean lifted Cas up against him and onto his lap, then rocked up into him. He bounced Castiel on his hips, holding him firmly against his chest. Castiel’s short moans and hot panting washed over Dean. He reached up to capture Castiel’s mouth, tugged his bottom lip out between his teeth, then grated them along the edge of his jaw. Castiel let out a snarl and nipped at his neck, tongue pressing in where his teeth had bit down.

Dean groaned and rocked harder, grabbing him under the ass.

This time he came quickly. The orgasm spasmed out far too soon, his cock swollen and over-sensitized. He pulled out with a gasp and tied off the condom, tossing it over the edge of the bed and onto the floor where he would get it later.

He turned back to Cas and covered his mouth with a heavy, post-orgasm kiss. When he pulled away he looked down between them.

“I better take care of that,” Dean said lazily, looking back up at Cas with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Castiel drew a quick breath.

“Dean, you don’t have to,” the man said.

Dean had already started lowering down to him and stopped abruptly to look back up at him.

“Who the hell do you take me for?” he said.

He lowered Castiel onto his back again and then moved between his legs, splaying them open and dipping his head. He licked around Castiel’s hole, up his perineum in a strip between his balls and up to the base of his shaft. He slipped a finger inside, then a second.

Cas gave a small shudder.

“Dean, please, it is very sensitive there,” he whimpered.

“Hey, I know what I’m doing,” Dean replied.

He found the soft nub of Castiel’s prostate and slid his fingers over it slowly. Castiel gasped and arched up against him, hips bucking.

“Oh! Oh, Dean! Oh!” Cas panted, chest heaving and gripped the bed sheets. Dean pushed his fingers back in, and repeated the same motion.

This time had Cas moaning full-throated and shaking. Dean took the opportunity to swallow him whole.

It didn’t take long before Castiel was moaning and arching under him and Dean felt the telltale warmth of him flood down his throat for the second time that night. He sucked off with a _pop_ and grinned up at the man, resting his chin against his sweat-slicked thigh.

Castiel was looking down at him with heavy-lidded eyes that were a dark ocean blue in the shadowed haze of his sated contentment. Dean crawled up to him and pressed a kiss to his lips. When he pulled back his breath caught on the look of adoration in those eyes.

“Cas—”

Dean’s breath caught a second time as he trapped the words in his throat.

_I love you._

It was far too soon for him to be feeling that way, let alone to be saying it out loud.

Castiel smiled at him and hummed low.

“Dean…”

Castiel nuzzled into his neck and made a soft sound of sleepy contentment. Dean let out the breath he was holding with a light chuckle.

“Wore you out, huh?” he said.

Castiel hummed again.

“Yes,” he murmured into Dean’s skin. He sighed. “Oh, Dean…” He drew a breath and on the exhale sighed again. “Dean…”

There was depth to the name, to the weight it carried rolling off his tongue. Sweet and warm like honey, like Castiel was singing his name rather than speaking it. Dean felt it hit him at his core, like he was hearing it with his bones rather than his ears, but it went even deeper than that. To his very soul. Dean pulled Castiel closer, wrapping his arms around the man tightly.

“Cas,” he murmured back. He held the man’s face against his and breathed over his cheek, hoping the name carried just as much feeling. “Castiel…”

He fell asleep with his angel wrapped in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Check out Dean and Cas's Chinatown date [HERE](https://regaime.livejournal.com/69124.html)
> 
> **ANNOUNCEMENT:** Next week I'm posting a double chapter-- one Thursday or Friday night, and then the big Halloween chapter on the day itself! You all are going to want to tune in, cuz I've got something up my sleeve... ;)
> 
> Until then... stay AWESOME ;D


	12. Circling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean decides he likes being a boss, but he likes having Cas over his apartment even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **See the end notes for a special announcement about tomorrow's chapter!**

* * *

Dean was up early the next morning. He let Cas sleep and trudged out to the kitchen, picking up the trail of discarded clothing leading down the hallway. He found the bag of leftovers next to the door and stood for a moment, staring at it guiltily. They had completely forgotten about it last night. He tossed it in the trash with a silent apology to the Gods of Dumplings and started digging around his kitchen for what he needed to make breakfast.

Pans hung from a rack on the ceiling, spices lived in a narrow drawer next to the stove. It was gas and six burners large, the fridge its stainless steel giant of a twin. Dean grabbed the eggs and some cheese and set to work warming up the pan. While that was happening he started brewing the coffee, then took a few minutes to put away his treats from yesterday. He washed out his new snack canister and filled it up. Then, getting an inspiration, he dug around for a sharpie and wrote across the top in large, blocked letters: _‘_ **CAS’S SNACKS** _.’_

He stowed the canister in the cupboard next to his own snack supply and returned to his forgotten pan.

He heard the sound of a toilet flushing just as he was starting on the eggs and then Castiel shuffled around the corner a minute following, hair mussed and eyes squinting as they adjusted to the light. He was wearing his boxer shorts and his t-shirt from the day before and walking carefully.

Dean poured him a cup of coffee out of the still-brewing pot and met him at the entrance to the kitchen with a steaming mug and a hearty good morning kiss. Castiel wrapped his arms around him and leaned against his chest, making a small noise of contentment as the kiss grew deeper.

Dean pulled back before he poured scalding coffee over his hand and held out the mug.

“Mornin’, Ducky,” he greeted.

Castiel hummed and smiled at the nickname. He brought the coffee to his lips and took a large sip.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Just past eight,” Dean replied, moving back around the counter to tend to his eggs. “What time do we need to roll out of here?”

“Nine,” Castiel replied. “I need to go back to my apartment first to shower and change.”

“Good, we’ve got time.” Dean grinned at him from over his shoulder. “Too bad you don’t have something here. My shower is _the shit_.”

Castiel laughed lightly and slipped onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. He took another sip of coffee to hide the blush starting over his cheeks.

“I will look forward to testing it out another time,” he replied.

“Why Cas, that sounded almost presumptuous of you,” Dean said. He leaned over the counter and grinned playfully at the man.

“Perhaps as early as tomorrow,” Castiel continued. He looked down into his mug. “If that isn’t too soon. I have the day off, so I thought…”

Castiel started as Dean’s hand suddenly covered the one wrapped around his coffee mug. He lowered it away from the man’s lips and then tilted his chin up so that he could meet Dean’s eyes. They were bright and green and sparkled with flecks of gold in the morning sun.

“Cas, you’re welcome here anytime,” Dean told him. There was the slightest Southern twang to the words.

Castiel blushed furiously, but it was covered by the kiss Dean pressed to his lips. His mouth tasted bitter from the coffee.

“And how are you feeling this morning?” Dean asked when he pulled back.

Castiel’s blush returned in a heartbeat.

“I am a little sore,” the man admitted. Dean laughed lightly and turned back to cooking, a smug, self-satisfying smirk stretched across his face. The coffee had finished, so he poured himself a cup while he worked.

“Where did you learn to cook?” Castiel asked suddenly from behind him.

Dean grinned at him over his shoulder.

“France,” he said. “There was this hot chef… uh…” He laughed nervously. “Anyway, she taught me how to cook.”

“I remember that,” Castiel said, brow dipping together as he dredged up the memory, “You were with her for a number of months if I recall. The tabloid writers wondered if it was serious.”

Dean felt his face heat up.

“How do _you_ remember that?” he blurted, “That was over three years ago.”

Castiel looked down into his coffee.

“I have a good memory,” he murmured.

“Uh huh,” Dean replied. He felt his brow knit together. There was something Castiel wasn’t telling him. He shrugged, figuring it didn’t really matter. “Anyway, it wasn’t serious. It was just food and sex with her. And it was fun for a while, but then...well, that was all it was. It couldn’t last.”

Dean let the pan do its thing for a minute and leaned across the counter where Cas was sitting.

“To be honest, I wanted more,” he said. He ran his hand over the black marble of the counter, following a vein of white in its design. “She didn’t. So, it ended.”

Castiel looked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Dean said. He shrugged. “We’re still friends.”

Behind him, the pan sizzled. Dean let out a curse and rushed to it, flipping the omelet before it could burn. Thankfully he’d caught it in time. The underside had delicate patches of golden-brown and glistened with oil.

When it was done he cut it in half and edged each onto its own plate, then grabbed forks and brought the whole mess over to the breakfast bar.

“There you go,” he said, putting the plate in front of Cas, “Breakfast of champions.”

“This looks delicious,” Castiel told him, reaching for his fork. He slid a bite into his mouth.

Dean froze with his own fork in midair as he waited for the verdict. Castiel swallowed and glanced up at him.

“It is very good,” he said.

Dean beamed at him and shoveled his own bite into his mouth.

They ate leisurely and then Dean called a car for Cas so that he could wash up at his own apartment. Dean kissed him long and slow in the doorway, as though they weren’t about to see each other in an hour for church.

That still tickled Dean whenever he thought about it— _him_ , going to _church_. Granted he only went to hear Cas sing, but still. A few weeks ago he would have laughed in the face of whoever suggested this would become his life.

It was almost as unbelievable as him having a _boyfriend_.

After the service they returned to Cas’s apartment again for a quick change of clothes (Dean came prepared with a change of his own this time) and then they headed over to the soup kitchen.

This time the kitchen organizers didn’t bother putting Dean in the front at all, and instead assigned him immediately to dishes with Charlie. Dean was perfectly happy with that. Charlie let him hook up his phone and blast Metallica while they worked.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to turn to gossip.

“So,” Charlie began, “You and dopey soup boy, huh?”

Dean felt his cheeks heat up a little but nodded nonetheless.

“Heh, yup,” he said.

Charlie shot him a look.

“You care to elaborate?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you want to know?” Dean asked her.

“Duh,” Charlie said, rolling her eyes, “ _Everything_.” She grinned. “Come on, spill. How’d you meet?”

“The uh…The Plaza Hotel. He works there as the bellboy. I was a guest,” Dean summarized. He felt his cheeks light up in a soft blush retelling the story.

“A guest,” Charlie deadpanned. She whistled. “You must be loaded.”

“Ever heard of _Winchester Enterprises_?” Dean asked her.

Charlie nearly dropped the dish she was washing, but caught it just in time to save it from smashing to pieces in the sink full of dirties.

“No _shit_! That’s you?” she blurted.

Dean nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable by her reaction to his family’s status.

“My dad’s company. I’m running the New York branch,” he explained. He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, but Charlie obviously disagreed.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed. She shook her head in disbelief. “Jesus, I work at a fracking gaming store so I can bum their internet.”

“So what are you doing here?” Dean asked her, diverting the conversation away from him, “You don’t seem like the church-going type.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Charlie said. She grinned wickedly. “Actually, I’m here for community service. Got a slap on the wrist for doing some…we’ll call it ‘gray-area’ internet stuff.”

“You’re a hacker?” Dean guessed.

“Best in the business,” Charlie replied with a wink.

“You got caught,” Dean pointed out.

“Dumb mistake,” Charlie said, shrugging. She pursed her lips and shook her head, “Didn’t have enough time to cover my tracks so I had to pretend to be hacking my date’s email.” She looked sideways at Dean.

“So what were you _really_ doing?” Dean asked her.

“Promise you won’t tell?” Charlie said.

Dean drew an ‘x’ over the front of his apron in soap suds.

“Cross my heart,” he said. Charlie grinned.

“Okay, so I only went out with her because she was the daughter of this bigwig oil lobbyist,” Charlie explained, “I mean, she was _hot_ so yeah, bonus points.” She wiggled her eyebrows and Dean laughed.

“Go on,” he said.

“Anyway, the plan was to use her to gain access to her dad’s server, but she caught me in the middle of trying to divert their campaign money to a ‘save the whales’ foundation.” Charlie groaned loudly and hung her head back. “Worse moment of my career. I must not have worn her out enough.” She shook her head a little, thinking back on it, then looked back to Dean. “I had to reverse the damn thing, then pretend to be reading her emails. She called the police on me!”

Dean laughed.

“Damn, that sucks,” he said.

Charlie shrugged. “Whatever, I still got the funds. Siphoned them off later little by little so no one would notice. I ended up in court for the email thing though. But I mean, I still _won_.”

She grinned evilly at Dean and winked.

“Shit,” Dean laughed. “Well hell, if you ever want a job…” he trailed off, reconsidering. “Actually, you know what? Never mind. Not sure I want someone like you with access to our servers.”

“You’re smarter than you look, hot lips,” Charlie said. She bumped him with her shoulder since her hands were in the sink.

“So, hey,” Dean said, “You doing anything for Halloween? We’re having a party over at The Plaza. Kind of a family tradition.”

Charlie pretended to think about it for a moment but Dean saw her eyes light up at the mention of The Plaza.

“Well, I _was_ going to dress up and go out cruising for chicks, but…” The redhead grinned. “A fancy party? Sounds fun.”

“Heh, awesome,” Dean said.

Charlie bumped him again.

“So, you gonna tell me more about soup boy or what?” she asked.

Dean blushed, dipping his head in embarrassment.

“Uh, sure, I guess. What else do you want to know?” he asked.

Charlie uttered a “Hmm,” thinking about it.

“Know what you’re doing for Halloween yet?” she asked.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Dean said. He looked down at the sink, his previous smile dropping in uncertainty.

“You should. It’s barely a week away,” Charlie replied. “Costumes take a while. Course, I’ve had mine picked out for months, so…” She shrugged again.

“Yeah? Who are you going as?” Dean asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Charlie replied with a smirk. “Worry about your own costume. It’s your first Halloween together, so if you don’t go as a matching couple, you’re practically cursed.”

“Shit.” Dean was suddenly very nervous. “You’re serious?”

Charlie nodded.

“You know what they say. The couple that can’t cosplay together, can’t stay together. Or…something like that.” She grinned. “But hey, if you need any help, I’m kind of the cosplay guru.”

“Cos…what?” Dean echoed.

“Never mind.” She snapped off her gloves and started grabbing the pile of clean dishes. “Hey, switch with me, will you? I need a break.”

* * *

After work at the kitchen ended, they said goodbye to Charlie and then headed back to Castiel’s apartment so that he could pick up a few things. Dean felt as though his entire body buzzed with excitement. Getting to spend all day _and_ all night with Cas and then doing it all over again? Dean rather felt like he was the luckiest man alive at the moment.

Castiel’s movements around his small apartment were precise—he knew exactly what he needed and where it all was, and he danced a tight circle in the small space of his living quarters gathering everything up. When he grabbed the t-shirt Dean had given him and stuffed it into his bag, Dean gulped down a sudden wave of arousal.

He had _plans_ for that shirt.

They grabbed pizza for dinner and then snuggled up in Dean’s ridiculously large bed where Dean threw on another classic Kung Fu movie to continue Castiel’s pop-cultural education and hugged Cas close to his chest. Castiel rose and fell with each breath Dean took in and out, his arms looped around Cas’s middle, the man’s head resting heavily against Dean’s shoulder.

He had changed into the Huggy Bear t-shirt before they’d climbed into bed and was now wearing it with a pair of light-blue boxers. His legs were tangled with Dean’s under the duvet and bed sheets, beating out the chill in the room. Cas was like a small furnace against him, and it was a good thing Dean dropped the temperature down a few degrees when they’d arrived. Things were going to heat up _fast_ , if he had anything to say about it.

Dean started by pressing soft kisses to Cas’s neck and jawline. A trailing hand went up under his t-shirt and then moved down to the waistband of his boxers. It slipped underneath, just as Dean gripped Cas’s ear in his teeth and ever-so-gently worried the soft flesh between them.

“Nnnhh, _Dean,_ ” Castiel murmured, shifting against him.

Castiel’s breathing became uneven and interspersed with quiet moans and sighs of pleasure the longer Dean went at it, until finally he squirmed out from Dean’s embrace and turned around to face him, pressing a hard kiss at his mouth. He dragged Dean’s lips open wide and rutted against him, Dean’s hand still under his shorts, a low and hungry grunt forcing its way into Dean’s mouth. It was followed soon after by his tongue. Castiel scooted up and tilted Dean’s head back, fingers framing his jaw as he pushed hungrily into Dean’s mouth.

Dean rose up and grasped him around the waist, turning them and pushing Cas back into the pillows propped up against the headboard. He slid his fingers under the man’s waistband and slowly slipped his boxers down his thighs. Castiel lifted his knees and hitched up his hips so that he could slide them all the way off, then started to tug off his shirt.

Dean stopped him with a hand to his crossed forearms.

“Leave it on,” he said quickly.

Castiel froze with his hands still gripping the edges of the shirt. It was lifted up enough so that Dean could see his smooth midriff peeking out from under it. Castiel’s brow dipped forward in confusion.

“Why..?” he said inquiringly, tilting his head to the side. He didn’t need to say more than that.

Dean gulped and felt the blood rush into his face. That wasn’t the only place it flooded to. He gripped himself through the thin fabric of his sweatpants and grunted in sudden arousal.

“Please, Cas, I— _nnhng—_ I wanna see you come in that shirt.”

Castiel very slowly let go of the shirt.

“You want to…” he echoed, trailing off. He seemed surprised, but intrigued.

“That’s not too weird, is it?” Dean asked, suddenly self-conscious. He gulped. He’d never before felt this turned-on by a piece of clothing that _wasn’t_ lingerie.

“No, it’s—” Castiel broke off into a coy smile. “How would you like to do this?” he asked. He scooted up against the pillows so that he was in more of a sitting position. Dean kneeled, straddling his outstretched legs, his boner tenting the front of his sweatpants.

“I wanna—” Dean broke off again and swallowed down hard. “I wanna watch you come,” he said. He slipped a hand under the band to his lounge pants and gripped himself underneath. “And I wanna…” Dean licked his lips and drew in a deep breath. “I wanna come with you.”

Castiel’s smile tugged upwards on one side.

“You want to watch me pleasure myself,” he clarified, “In your t-shirt.”

Dean nodded vigorously.

“Yeah,” he replied, “ _Hell_ yeah. I wanna watch you go nuts. And I want you to…watch me watching you.”

Castiel made a rumbling, pleased humming noise low in his throat. He reached for the line of half-hard flesh between his legs and gripped himself firmly.

“Like…this?” he asked, slowly reaching up around himself.

Dean made a closed-mouthed moan that sounded desperate and almost pained and gripped himself tighter under his pants.

“Yeah,” he let out in a breathy gust, “Yeah, just like that, Cas. Touch yourself for me.”

Castiel locked eyes with him and slowly drew his hand down and around his swelling penis, then up again. His eyes fluttered closed when he reached the head and he leaned back into the pillows, arching up his back and lifting his hips to fuck into his fist.

“ _Aaahhh!_ ” he let out in a moan, hips rising and falling again.

Dean pumped himself under his pants, hips thrusting forward and back as his eyes stayed glued to the hand around Castiel’s thick hard-on.

“ _Shit_ , Cas—so fuckin’ _hot_ ,” Dean moaned, panting. He thrust into his fist, watching as Castiel arched up again and pumped harder.

“That’s it, Cas—faster,” Dean prompted. He sped up to match his pace.

Castiel tugged up, spreading his legs wider. He reached down with his other hand to palm his balls under the one furiously working his penis, head falling back against the pillows again. Minutes passed in a series of fervent grunts and erratic breathing. It didn’t take long for him to reach the edge.

“Dean! Dean, I’m gonna c-c—”

“Not yet,” Dean said quickly. He let his breath out in a quick _“haaa,”_ and then sucked in to catch it back. “Don’t you dare come yet.”

“I can’t—Dean! I’m—I’m cl-cl—too close,” Castiel whined. He didn’t slow, though, and he didn’t come.

“Wait for me, Cas, I’m— _hhhaahhhnng_ —gettin’ there,” Dean panted. He thrust faster, fist flying up and down the length of his cock, thumb flicking over the head on every go, hand twisting down the shaft and pulling up again—and again—and—

“D- _Dean_ ,” Castiel moaned, straining up in an arch under his fist. “I c-c-can’t— _nnnngghaaa_.”

Breathing fast, his whole face flushed, Castiel’s slatted blue eyes peered at him through a haze of pleasure.

“Sh-sh _it_ ,” Dean gasped, nearly losing his balance. He shoved his pants down around his thighs and felt the rush of cool air flooding the trapped heat where his cock was fisted in his hand. “Gonna come, Cas—you ready?”

Castiel made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and nodded, then groaned as another wave of pleasure hit him.

“Count-a—th-th— _fuck_. Can’t count,” Dean said, jerking in his own hand.

“Dean _please_ ,” Castiel begged. His panting was ferocious now, chest caving in with each rushed exhale, crashing down into his chest, heaving up on the inhale…

“On three,” Dean forced out after a grunt of pleasure. “One…two…”

“ _Dean!_ ”

“Now Ca— _aaahhhnngg!_ ”

Dean threw his head back and came violently, forcing his eyes to remain on the show below him. Castiel heaved off the mattress and into his hand with a loud cry, spilling over the edge half a second after him. Great globs of cum fell in splotches over ‘Huggy Bear’s’ smiling face—both their streams mixing together—the sight causing a thrum of whitewashed euphoria racing throughout Dean’s entire body.

His whole body tingled as it faded, like the static buzz of electrical wires.

Dean panted and fell back to his heels in well-spent exhaustion.

Castiel looked at him through half-lidded eyes, his breathing irregular and heavy. His whole face glowed in the aftermath of his orgasm, and Dean had to assume it had been just as intense for him as it had been for Dean.

“Hah,” Dean laughed, the sound coming out in a huff of air, “That was fuckin’ _hot_ , Cas.”

For the first time since they started, Dean crawled up along his half-naked body and leaned in to place a long, slow kiss on his lips.

“Good?” he asked when he moved back, though the question wasn’t especially necessary. He grinned down at the shirt, eyes tracing the mess they’d made and then he looked back up to meet Cas’s passion-drunk, post-orgasm gaze.

“Mmm, it was…”

“If you say _invigorating_ , Cas, I swear—” Dean interrupted playfully.

“Ahh, um…” Castiel trailed off, trying to think of another adjective. “Fun?”

Dean laughed breathlessly and sat back on his heels.

“Heh, _fun_ ,” he repeated, laughing again. “Guess that sums it up.” He grinned shamelessly and shook with laughter.

Castiel chuckled and looked down, then reached over to grab the tissue box from the nightstand. He wiped up the mess as much as he could and then sighed, looking down at his shirt in defeat.

“This was the only thing I brought to sleep in,” he said, at a loss.

Dean chuckled.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said. “Take it off, I’ll throw in a load of laundry. You’ll have to go full nudist for a few hours but…” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I think I have an idea about how to pass the time.”

Castiel’s eyes lowered bashfully, but there was a smile on his lips. Then he nodded and lifted the shirt carefully over his head.

Dean wondered briefly if Cas was overwhelmed with how fast they were moving. He seemed fine, though—more than fine, in fact. Other than his initial reservations regarding physical intimacy, he’d been enthusiastic—adventurous even, if tonight was any indication. He didn’t withdraw when Dean made a move on him any longer. It seemed as though now that the barricade was gone, it was full speed ahead.

Dean slipped out of his own sleeping clothes, having soiled them himself, and once the washer was running he slid back into bed and wrapped his arms around the man already there keeping it warm for him.

By the time they were finished the sheets were well soaked and their bodies heavy with the satisfied afterglow of awesome sex. Dean nuzzled into Cas’s neck and hummed, arm resting heavily over his torso and holding him close. Castiel breathed a soft, content sigh in return, turning toward Dean’s to kiss him slowly—lazily—goodnight.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean said before drifting off to sleep.

“Yes, Dean?”

Castiel’s voice was rumbling gravel against his chest. Dean smiled. He hesitated only a little before saying it.

“’M glad you’re here,” Dean told him softly.

Castiel just hummed and nuzzled closer.

“As am I,” he replied warmly. Then, a few minutes later he uttered, “Goodnight, Dean,” in a sleep-slurred voice.

“Night, Cas,” Dean replied affectionately.

A soft smile on his lips, Dean closed his eyes and focused in on the sounds of the city outside—the blare of car horns and the distant wail of sirens—and the quiet, even breathing of the man in his arms.

He fell asleep much as he had the night previously, with his arms wrapped around Castiel. His shirt remained—forgotten—in the wash overnight.

* * *

For the second time in as many days, Dean got to wake up to Castiel’s adorable bedhead. He watched his serenely sleeping face for a number of minutes, content to commit every line and angle of him to memory before waking him. He was supposed to be at the office by nine, which meant as much as he wanted to spend all morning in bed, they really ought to get moving. Dean glanced over to the clock, which read just past seven. Well, maybe they had _some_ time to kill…

Dean snuggled closer to Cas and ran his fingers through the man’s hair. He was out like a light, though, and didn’t stir. Dean trailed his fingers down the side of his face like a voyeur, then traced the outline of his lips. They murmured something incoherent, but Castiel’s eyes remained closed and his breathing even.

Dean grinned shamelessly to himself. Oh, there was _fun_ to be had here.

He slipped his hand under the covers and found little Cas sleeping just as peacefully in the space between his legs. Dean brushed his fingers over the soft line of flesh. His grin turned smug as Castiel’s face twitched slightly in his sleep. It wasn’t the only thing that did so.

_“Caaaas,”_ Dean whispered in his ear. He ran his hand down the length of him, then up again. He licked at the man’s earlobe and then worried it gently between his teeth.

Castiel snuffed and twitched again, more violently this time. Then his eyes fluttered open and Dean moved back, grinning at him seductively.

“Mornin’,” he said softly.

“ _Nnnn…_ Dean?” Castiel murmured, blue eyes sleep-bleary and squinted against the light streaming in from the windows. “What are you…?” he started to ask, which was precisely the moment Dean chose to move his hand under the covers. Castiel sucked in a breath, arching up under him. “ _HHhh—Dean_!”

Still half-asleep, he was like butter in Dean’s hand and quickly hardening. Dean nosed into his neck and placed soft kisses down the length of it. He sucked at the hollow under Castiel’s chin as he continued his attentions under the sheets.

When he pulled back Cas was much more awake and his breathing was a lot heavier. He rolled toward Dean and grabbed him by the back of the neck, pressing a powerful kiss to his lips—hungry and desperate. His mouth was warm with sleep yet sharp with the taste of his arousal.

A hand found him under the covers and Dean gasped into Castiel’s mouth as he was suddenly wrapped in a warm palm and long, slender fingers. His hips jerked forward and he picked up the pace, panting open-mouthed against Cas as they climbed steadily toward completion.

Short minutes later Dean was burying his face in Castiel’s hair, hand gripping the soft strands as he groaned and came undone in his grasp. Castiel followed seconds later, forced over the edge by Dean’s enthusiastic response and the frantic tug of his hair as Dean pulled his head back and mapped open-mouthed kisses down his neck.

They pulled apart, both panting heavily and ginning like fools at one another. Castiel’s eyes were bright and awake, enlivened by the afterglow of good sex.

“Morning,” Dean said again, dropping a kiss on his lips.

Castiel murmured something akin to a response and looped an arm around his back, pulling him in close to press firmly against the full length of his fevered body. They made out until Dean’s alarm clock went off.

Dean extricated himself from Castiel’s embrace, rolling over with a groan and slapping the thing off.

“What time is it?” Castiel asked him when he rolled back over and buried his nose in the crook of his neck.

“Almost eight,” Dean replied. He sighed against Cas’s neck and moved back again. “Much as I’d like to laze around with you all morning, we gotta get rollin’.”

“Shower?” Castiel suggested.

The corner of Dean’s mouth tugged up into a dirty smirk.

“Heh, that _is_ the whole reason you stayed over,” Dean said.

He threw off the covers and rolled out of bed, then chased Cas bare assed into the bathroom, pinching at the dimples on his cheeks. Dean caught him up against the glass to the shower and pressed a slow kiss to his lips.

“Wish we had time to try out the Jacuzzi,” he murmured against them when he pulled back.

Castiel looked up at him with heavily-shaded eyes. They slid over to the monstrosity of the tub set into the corner of the room and then smiled up at Dean.

“That is a lot of bubbles,” he noted, nodding to the row of bath accessories lined up against the back rim of the tub.

Dean flashed him a crooked smile.

“You know what they say,” Dean quoted, “Bubbles hide a number of sins and suggest a bunch of others.”

Castiel laughed.

“Do they now?” he teased.

“So does steam,” Dean added.

He opened the door to the shower and skipped through it, tugging Castiel behind him.

When Dean turned him around and pressed him up against the wall of the shower, Castiel laughed lightly in amusement.

“I thought the function of taking a shower was to get clean,” Castiel said lightly, “Not dirtier.”

Dean might have taken him seriously had he not said so while pressing his ass back against him. He grinned into Cas’s skin and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“Who says we can’t do both?” he replied. He pressed a warm kiss just under his ear and then leaned back with a sigh. “Don’t really have the time to do what I have in mind though,” he said regretfully. Castiel turned around in his arms and slid his hands up his sides.

“And what exactly was that?” he asked with a coy smile.

Dean grinned devilishly at him and laughed.

“Heh, gotta keep some of my tricks to myself,” Dean said, “Can’t have you getting’ tired of me.”

He trailed his fingers over Castiel’s stomach and felt a shiver run through him. Castiel hummed and pulled him closer to his chest.

“I somehow doubt that is possible,” he murmured in a low, gravelly voice.

His hands slid over Dean’s backside, giving it a firm squeeze. Dean sucked in a breath and then let it out in an airy laugh.

“Is that all I am to you?” he flirted, “A hot piece of ass?”

“Well, ahh…” Castiel flirted back, blushing slightly. “You also feed me. And do my laundry.”

Dean laughed.

“Good point. Maybe I should have you earn your keep if you’re going to be staying here more often,” Dean said thoughtfully, “Maybe I should fire my housekeeper and have you take her spot. Then I’d get you all to myself. I still think you’d make a great French Maid,” Dean told him. He dropped a kiss on his lips and grinned wickedly at him.

Castiel raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“You have the strangest domestic fantasies,” Castiel told him.

Dean just grinned wider and turned on the hot water.

“You have no idea.”

They spent a long time in the shower—longer than they really should have, and Dean was rushing by the time they got out.

“Shit, shit _, shit_ , gonna be late,” he cursed when he caught the time. He rumpled the towel through his hair and threw on a pair of work pants and a shirt, fingers frozen over the buttons as he paused to watch Castiel tug his jeans up over his ass.

Castiel caught Dean staring and blushed shyly.

“We could skip breakfast,” he suggested, “I _do_ have food at my place, despite how small my kitchen is.”

“Dude, that’s _not_ a kitchen,” Dean told him. “And hell, I’m already running late. What’s a few more minutes? My first meeting’s not ‘til later anyway.” He looked down and finished buttoning up his shirt. “Got that interview with Kevin today.”

“If you’re sure…” Castiel said, worrying. “Won’t your father be upset if you are late on your first day?”

Dean thought about that while he was pulling on his socks.

“I dunno. Maybe, but…” He shrugged. “Whatever, I’ll make up for it. Eggs okay with you again?”

Castiel nodded.

“Yes, that is fine. You are very adept at making omelets,” he commented.

“That’s not all I’m _adept_ at,” Dean flirted, smirking at him.

The bright blush and stutter that tumbled out of Castiel’s mouth would return later when Dean needed a bit of a mood boost at the office.

He took advantage of it in the moment regardless, pulling Castiel into a long kiss and running his hands through his shower-damp hair. He smelled like fresh soap and aftershave, and the heat from the shower still rose off of his skin in soft, caressing waves.

Dean broke away with a sigh some long minutes later.

“I _really_ wish I had the day off to spend with you,” he lamented, looking into Castiel’s bright blue eyes.

Castiel placed a hand in the center of his chest and pushed him away.

“Breakfast,” he said humorously, “Go. Now. _You_ may not be worried about being late, but it isn’t a very good first impression to make as the new boss.”

“Then what’s the point of being a boss?” Dean complained.

He dipped down for another kiss, stealing it off Castiel’s lips as he tried to push Dean toward the kitchen. Dean succeeded on the second try and broke away with a victorious grin.

Castiel just laughed and shoved him down the hallway.

“ _Go_ ,” he said. There was a light in his eyes as Dean tried once more to kiss him.

To be fair, he didn’t put up much of a fight. And it was a _long_ hallway. Eventually they did make it to the kitchen, but not before Dean got Cas to surrender to him, pushing him up against the wall of the corridor and making him beg for more.

* * *

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Dean said over breakfast.

Castiel was currently seated at the breakfast bar with a freshly brewed cup of coffee, his damp shower hair sticking up in the back in a way that made Dean want to run his hands through it to smooth it down—or maybe muss it up more—it was a hard sell and had he not been cooking he’d have found out which it was. Cas was wearing the now clean Huggy Bear t-shirt and a fresh pair of pale blue boxer shorts.

“Whenever you say things like that it leads me to believe you have been scheming,” Castiel said, taking a sip of coffee. He peered at Dean from over the steaming mug. “As opposed to just ‘ _thinking_ ’.” He put the mug down long enough to give Dean air quotes, then promptly picked it back up to his lips again.

Dean chuckled and flipped the omelet. He flashed Cas a smile over his shoulder.

“Figured me out already, huh?”

Castiel hummed into his coffee.

“Yes, I don’t believe you _think_ much at all,” the man replied. His voice was lower in the morning, Dean had noticed, and it sent small roiling waves of pleasure through his lower abdomen and down to his toes to hear it grate over his Adam’s apple like that. “You seem to exist in a perpetual state of scheming. Or at best, if you _are_ thinking, you certainly aren’t doing it with your upstairs brain,” Castiel finished. He grinned crookedly at Dean, blue eyes cast up under his eyelashes, head still tilted toward his coffee mug.

Dean laughed again and shook his head.

“Well, you wouldn’t be wrong,” he admitted.

He turned off the heat and let the omelet cook for another couple minutes in the pan, making sure the insides of the neatly tri-folded egg were fully cooked through. When he judged that it was, he plated it up and brought it over to the breakfast bar, one plate balanced on his forearm and his other hand occupied with his own cup of java.

“I was thinking about Halloween,” Dean continued, setting the plates down and then scooting onto the bar stool next to Cas. “The party is this Saturday. Any idea what you’re doing for a costume?”

Castiel blinked twice and stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth. He set it down and looked at Dean.

“It is a…costume party?” he asked. His brow pinched together in sudden concern. “I…ah, hadn’t realized…”

“Of course it’s a costume party,” Dean said. He looked at Cas like he’d just asked if fish could swim. “Dude, it’s _Halloween_.”

“Yes, well. I…must admit I have never celebrated it before,” Castiel admitted.

It was Dean’s turn to blink.

“What?”

“I…don’t know how I can be clearer on the matter,” Castiel replied. He took a bite of egg.

“I know what you meant, Cas,” Dean told him, “What I’m trying to figure out is _why_?”

“My, ah…parents. They believed Halloween was akin to devil worship,” Castiel explained, “It being a pagan holiday—”

“Newsflash, so is Christmas,” Dean interrupted.

“Yes, I am aware,” Castiel said with an amused smile, “Nevertheless, that is the reason I have never experienced a costume party. The few times I was invited I…always declined.”

“But you said yes to me,” Dean said. He smiled at Cas more than a little smugly.

“I would have said yes to anything you asked me,” Castiel confessed. He looked down at his eggs and blushed deeply.

“Huh.”

Dean felt the smile on his face stretch wider and took a few happy bites of egg before picking up the conversation again.

“So about this whole costume thing…” he started.

“If you suggest that I dress as a slutty angel, I will fling eggs at you,” Castiel warned, looking up at him. He jabbed his fork into his breakfast to make his point.

Dean let out a bark of laughter.

“Oh come on! It’s a classic!” At Cas’s narrow-eyed squint, he relented. “Alright, fine. How about we reverse it? You go as the devil, _I’ll_ go as the slutty angel.”

“I am not comfortable dressing up as Lucifer for Halloween,” Castiel muttered into his eggs.

“A demon then? Come on, Cas, you’d be cute with a little forked tail pinned to that hot ass of yours.” At Castiel’s grunt of a reply, Dean tried again. “Okay, how’s this, I’ll go as devil food, and you can go as angel cakes.”

“No. And I thought you would be against the idea of going as a matching pair, considering your father will be at the party,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean let out a nervous laugh.

“Good point,” he said. He’d kind of forgotten about that.

Suddenly Dean got an idea. He tried very hard to keep the smirk from climbing onto his face and just barely won out. It helped that he hid it expertly behind his coffee mug.

“How about a duck?” Dean suggested, “You like ducks.”

Castiel was silent for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully.

“I suppose that would be alright,” Castiel said after he’d swallowed, “It is not too boring?” he fretted.

“Naw, it’ll be cute,” Dean replied, grinning at him.

“What will you go as?” Castiel asked then.

“Hmm, dunno yet,” Dean lied. He pretended to think for a moment, then shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You wouldn’t be… _scheming_ again would you?” Castiel asked him with a squinted look.

Dean just shrugged again and shoveled eggs into his mouth.

“Guess that’s for me to know and you to find out,” he said cheekily.

Castiel grunted and turned his attention back to his breakfast. There was a blush to his cheeks though that told Dean that his previous comment of _anything_ still applied. Damn. Dean should have tried a little harder on the whole slutty angel sell. He could just picture it—Cas in a pair of tighty-whities, a halo, and a pair of fluffy angel wings—and nothing else.

It was a nice image but… Dean smirked into his eggs and reconsidered.

Naw, what he had in mind was much, _much_ better than a slutty angel.

* * *

John wasn’t exactly _happy_ about him being late on his first day, but didn’t say much past lightly scolding him about making a good first impression—kind of like Cas had, and the thought of the two of them being in any way alike was more than a little strange.

“This is your show to run,” John told him sternly when Dean just shrugged him off, “You want it to fail, that’s up to you.”

Translation— _get this wrong and your ass will be on the first flight back to California_.

_Shit_. Well, _that_ got Dean’s attention. He resolved to be on time going forward.

Kevin was waiting for him in the lobby of the office when he arrived, visibly nervous and sweating through the collar of his shirt. Dean glanced at his watch. He was early. Figured. Dean waved him into his office and closed the door.

He spent a few minutes reading over the kid’s resume, letting him sweat things out for a few more minutes.

“Says here you’re taking a year off before college?” Dean said finally, tapping at the sheet of paper in his hand. It was printed on ivory resume paper and had a header at the top with Kevin’s picture in the corner. Kid was an overachiever for sure.

“Oh. Um, y-yes,” Kevin replied. “I plan on going to Princeton, but I didn’t have anything for a college essay so my advisors suggested taking a year to…gain some life experience.”

“Huh,” Dean said. His brow furrowed in confusion. “So how the hell did you end up in Chinatown conning poor saps out of their hard-earned cash?” he asked.

“That was my mom’s idea,” Kevin rushed to answer. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “She…thought it would give me a unique perspective on social-economic prejudices.” He answered. “And college is expensive.”

Dean laughed.

“Your mom is something else, you know that?” he said.

“Tell me about it…” Kevin mumbled.

“So,” Dean said, leaning against his desk, “What makes you think you’ve got what it takes to be my PA?”

“Um. W-well…I’m a dedicated worker,” Kevin started, “And…I have a great memory, so I can remember anything you need me to. And…um…I’m resourceful…”

He trailed off, flipping through the notebook in his hands. They were shaking with nerves.

Dean just looked at him with steely eyes and said nothing. He wanted to see what the kid would do under scrutiny.

Kevin stopped abruptly and looked up from his notepad, seeming to realize this.

“Oh. This is a test, isn’t it?” he said. He took a breath and set down the notepad, straightening up in the chair and squaring his shoulders back. “To see how I work under pressure. Well, you can’t break me, Mr. Winchester. I’m tougher than I look.”

“Well that’s a relief, ‘cuz you _look_ like a wet noodle,” Dean told him. He grinned, amused and more than a little impressed by the kid. He had spunk. Still… “How are you with keeping secrets?” he asked.

It was really the only thing that mattered to him.

“Oh. Um…good? I don’t see how that’s relevant, though,” Kevin replied.

“Well, let me paint you a scenario,” Dean said, crossing his arms and shifting his weight against the edge of the desk, “Say my dad asks you about my schedule. And I’ve got plans with someone.” Dean raised an eyebrow at the kid. “Someone you’ve maybe met before, you catch my drift?”

Kevin blinked and then realization washed over his face.

“Oh! I see,” he said, “You’re asking me what I would do in a situation like that.” Kevin paused only briefly to assess the information available to him: secrets, his father, the man Dean had been with in Chinatown. “Right. Well, since you’re my boss and not him? I would tell him you have plans, but I would pretend not to know who they’re with.”

Dean cracked a smile at the kid and uncrossed his arms. He shoved off the desk and held out his hand.

“You’re hired, kid,” he said.

Kevin bolted to his feet and took the hand in stride.

“Th-thank you!”

Dean nodded in a very boss-like manner. Hey, this could be fun.

“Alright, awesome. Now then, see if you can get the phone company to haul ass over here. The phones aren’t hooked up like they promised. Tell them if they aren’t fixed in an hour, we’re switching to the competition,” Dean said.

The blank look of horror on Kevin’s face was totally worth it. He recovered quickly, to his credit.

“I’m on it!”

* * *

Dean’s day continued with more logistical nonsense. He paid a visit to the new IT guys, Ed and Harry, to see what was up, and found them arguing over something (what in the hell was EMF anyway?). Dean strode up to them with an irritated frown on his face and knocked their heads together—three-stooges style.

They let out a simultaneous _“OW!!”_ and looked up at Dean’s disapproving frown.

“Hey, dumb and dumber, you wanna explain to me why the internet isn’t working?” Dean asked.

“What the hell, man!?” Ed blurted, rubbing his head, “You can’t hit us! That’s harassment!”

“And assault,” Harry added, “Not to mention the debilitating long-term effects bullying has psychologically _and_ mentally.”

“Pretty sure those are the same thing, Harry,” Ed commented.

“No, I’m pretty sure—” Harry argued.

“So sue me,” Dean dared, cutting him off, “Now I want you two to haul ass and get the internet working. That _is_ what I’m paying you for right? I thought you guys were some sort of tech geniuses.”

“We are,” Ed insisted.

“We’re more like…tech _enthusiasts_ ,” Harry admitted. “I mean, Ed took a few programming classes and I know my way around a—.”

“Don’t care,” Dean interrupted again, “Just get it working.”

“Look, man, we know it’s not working. We were trying to figure out the problem before you barged in,” Ed said.

“I’m telling you, Ed, there are _ghosts_ in the system,” Harry told him, “Everything is hooked up exactly as it should be. It’s not a technical issue so it has to be a _supernatural_ phenomenon.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Dean said. He sighed and pulled out his cell phone. If he wanted the website up sometime this century then there was only one person he could turn to…

The person in question picked up on the third ring.

“Queen of Moondor, what news from the realm?” Charlie answered.

“Charlie?” Dean said. He took the phone away from his ear briefly to check he’d called the right person.

“Who— _Dean_?” Charlie answered. “Sorry, I thought you were one of my LARPing…never mind. What’s up?”

“What the hell is LARPing?” Dean asked. He shook his head. “No, don’t answer that. No time. I’ve got an internet problem here. Think you can show a couple of computer dimwits how to fix it?”

Charlie chuckled wickedly over the line.

“Let me guess…you hired a couple of chum-heads who don’t know the difference between…” She rambled off some kind of technical mumbo-jumbo that to Dean made her sound a lot like the teacher from Peanuts.

“Uh…” Dean’s face went blank as he tried to figure out the nonsense Charlie had just spouted at him. “Sure, we’ll go with that. So? Can you help a guy out?”

Charlie was silent for a beat and seemed to be thinking about it. Then she sighed deeply.

“I can be there in half an hour,” Charlie said, “On one condition. Demote those idiots and hire me for real. I’m sick of twiddling my thumbs and staring at orc figurines. No matter _how_ cool orcs are, this job is _not_ what you’d call glamorous.”

“Deal, long as you promise not to do any extra-curricular activities in my office,” Dean said.

“Does the lobby count?” Charlie replied.

Dean heaved a long sigh.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he said wearily, rubbing at his forehead.

“Naw, I’ll behave, cross my heart. But you better be ready to pay me my weight in gold, cuz that’s what I’m worth. You grock me?”

“Do I—? Um…yeah, sure. We can go over all of that later. Consider this an audition,” Dean said.

“A Jedi Master does not _audition_ ,” Charlie replied dryly.

Dean laughed.

“Yeah, okay. Point taken.” He paused. “Just get over here, will ya? If I can’t get the internet working there won’t _be_ a job. For any of us.”

“Aye aye, Boss Man. Reading you loud and clear,” Charlie replied. “Text me the address.”

“Thanks Charlie,” Dean said.

He ended the call and looked up at Ed and Harry, who had been following his every word.

“Good news boys. You’ve got a new boss. Her name is Charlie. Do everything she says, and maybe I won’t fire you asshats on your first day,” Dean told them. He gave the two of them a tight smile.

As he stalked away he heard Ed mutter under his breath.

“Man, what a _dick_.”

Dean grinned and decided in that moment that he liked being a boss. He was also liking the fact that Ed and Harry were now Charlie’s problem and not his.

The day proceeded in much the same manner, with Dean circling around the office getting to know his new employees and putting out fires where they erupted. His phone rang halfway through the day during a meeting with his dad. He checked the caller ID and felt his heart stutter pleasantly in his chest. Castiel. Dean glanced at John briefly, then picked it up.

“Hey,” Dean answered.

_“Hello, Dean_ ,” Cas replied.

Dean grinned. He couldn’t help it.

“So? What’s up? Not that you need a reason to call,” Dean said.

_“Oh, well...I am in the park and…I was curious how things are going at the new office,”_ Cas said.

Dean grinned and looked down at the gray-blue carpet of his office. He didn’t know which part of that sentence made him happier—the thought of Cas feeding the ducks in Central Park, or him checking in with Dean about his first day on the job.

“Off to a rocky start but now that we got the phones and internet working, I think we’re good,” Dean told him. “I can’t really chat though. Kinda in the middle of something.”

And his dad was sitting not two feet away listening to his every word. It was only half a conversation, but still…Dean was acutely aware of everything he was saying.

_“Very well. I will let you get back to it,_ ” Cas said.

“Hey, you comin’ over later?” Dean asked him before he could hang up. He glanced to his father, who was listening in on his every word, and turned his back to the man to hide his face. He licked his lips nervously. “We could grab some chow and…play Mario Cart,” he said.

_“I—ah…why would we…? Oh. Your father is there with you, isn’t he?”_ Castiel said, figuring it out.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dean answered him, pretending to be responding to a completely different question.

_“I see. So then I assume ‘Mario Cart’ is code for…ah…s-sex?”_ Castiel asked.

“Uh huh,” Dean replied.

_“Ah. I thought so. I—ah, c-can’t. I have work at the opera tonight,_ ” Castiel replied, tripping over the words. Dean could see the warm blush across the bridge of his nose in his mind’s eye—a mirror image of the one from that morning.

“Darn,” he replied. He couldn’t help the line of disappointment that slipped into his voice. “Another time then.”

_“I have tomorrow night off_ ,” Cas responded.

“Awesome,” Dean said. He grinned shamelessly over the phone. “I’ll uh…text you later.”

_“Goodbye, Dean,_ ” Castiel murmured.

Dean’s grin stretched wider.

“Bye,” Dean replied.

He hung up and turned back to his father, sucking in a breath to gather up his courage for the inevitable interrogation that was about to follow.

“Who was that?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh. Uh, just…someone I know,” Dean replied vaguely.

“Hmm,” John hummed suspiciously. “Dean, I know it isn’t any of my business but…does Carmen know you’re seeing other women?”

“Who?” Dean blurted. He remembered a moment too soon. “Oh. Naw, that was… we’re just friends,” he lied. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

“My mistake,” John said dryly, “Just…be careful, son.”

“R-right,” Dean replied. The irony of _that_ comment… “So, uh…wh-where were we?” Dean asked.

John raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment at his weak attempt to change the subject.

“We were discussing the details on the deal with Mr. Chen,” he said, picking up where they left off. Dean sat back down and took the paper his father held out to him. He skimmed it and frowned.

“He agreed to three percent,” Dean told him, handing the paper back, “This says two. How do you want to handle it?” he asked.

“How would _you_ like to handle it?” John replied, “Your show, son. I’m just here for the moral support.”

Dean thought about it briefly.

“I guess we better politely remind him…” he said, “and if that doesn’t work then we see if we can’t get him to agree to two and a half. At the end of the day we can’t afford to let this deal go, but we also don’t want him thinking he can just walk all over us.”

The proud smile stretching across John’s face told Dean that he’d hit the nail on the head.

“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” John replied.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Kevin popped his head in.

“Sir, there’s a lady here from the city. Something about an inspection?”

Dean cursed and rose to his feet.

“Shit. I forgot all about that.” He straightened his tie and grimaced. This was _so not_ going to be fun. “Ok, Kev, show her in.”

“Yes, sir,” Kevin said.

“And Kevin?” Dean said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t call me sir. Name’s Dean, alright kid?”

“Er…yes. Okay,” Kevin replied awkwardly. “…Dean.” He made a face and shook his head. “No, that’s weird.”

“Don’t care,” Dean told him. “Call me ‘sir’ one more time and you’ll be back in Chinatown before you can say ‘Happy Ending’.”

The look on Kevin’s face was priceless. Heh. Dean was _definitely_ enjoying being a boss.

* * *

The inspection went about as well as Dean expected. After two hours of pretending to give a shit about city regulations, the lady finally left, but not without a hefty fine just because he hadn’t hung up the appropriate signage in the break room—one of which was about appropriate conduct in the workplace and…yeah, Dean had broken about ten of those rules on his first day alone. Opps.

Hours later, Dean sighed and collapsed onto the couch in his office, running a hand over his face in frustration. He’d survived the day. In all honesty, he hadn’t been sure he was going to. All the red tape and legal hoops it took to run a business was enough to drive a man insane.

There was a rap at the door and Dean called a weary “Come in,” to whoever it was. He sat up a little straighter when his dad stepped into his office.

“Dad. Hey,” he greeted.

“Dean,” John said. He strode into the room and went straight for the decanter of whiskey on the table, pouring them both a liberal portion of the stiff drink. He grinned and handed the tumbler to Dean.

The clap on his shoulder came as a surprise, and Dean nearly dropped his drink at the sudden, jolting presence of his father’s grip.

“What a day, eh, son?” John said, laughing. He seemed in high spirits for whatever reason, despite how terribly the day had gone.

Dean gave him a weak, exhausted smile and chuckled.

“Oh sure, it was a right bottle of laughs,” he said sarcastically. He took a long swig of whiskey.

“I ever tell you about the first time I ran a crew on a job site?” John asked him. Dean shook his head so he continued. “Freak thunderstorm rolled in halfway through the day,” John said, “All the material got soaked, the electricity went out, and as luck would have it the building was so run-down—electrical wires sticking out of the walls at every juncture—that it wasn’t safe to set foot in there until we were able to assess what had caused it. Only the _building inspector_ refused to meet with us because he heard somewhere that the place was _haunted_.” John broke off and chuckled. “And there Bobby and I were with our first crew, barely able to pay for our own lunch let alone pay a bunch of guys a full day’s wages to sit outside in the rain while we found an inspector who was willing to step foot in there.”

John laughed and sat back in his chair.

“What happened?” Dean asked, leaning forward.

“We got lucky. A bunch of the guys were superstitious. They quit as soon as they heard the rumor that the place was overrun with ghosts.” His father grinned at him, then shrugged. “And then we got up the next day, hired a new crew, and kept going,” he said.

Dean was quiet for a long time, just staring down at his drink. After a while, he rose to his feet.

“Guess I better get ready for tomorrow, then,” he said.

He drained the last of his drink and set it down on the table, then headed for the door.

* * *

The second day wasn’t nearly as bad as the first. Dean was on time for one—Cas had work late at the opera and spent the night at his own place—and so Dean had no reason to drag his feet in the morning. It was quiet and lonely in his apartment without Cas there, Dean realized, and he threw himself into his work to try and stave off the smothering feeling of _aloneness_ that trailed him around his new apartment like a sticky shadow.

It helped that Cas stayed over on the nights he didn’t work. On those nights Dean made sure he left the office in time to meet him coming off his shift at the hotel, and they would cuddle up together and eat takeout and throw on a movie only to spend the entire length of it—and then some—learning all of the many intimate, impossible facets that made them a couple.

The remainder of the week flew by in a flash of color, with Dean and Cas orbiting around one another in a tight circle, oblivious to the world passing them by. They only knew the ever-reaching, growing sensation of closeness that strung between them like ribbons tied to a maypole, and the bright, magical feeling that accompanied each new knot and strand.

Before they knew it, Saturday had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Tomorrow is the long-awaited WINCHESTER MONSTER MASH!! Click [HERE](https://regaime.livejournal.com/69407.html) for a sneak preview on what to expect! 
> 
> I'll be posting around 1pm Eastern Standard Time, so be sure to tune in! :D


	13. Masquerading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama, shenanigans, rum punch, and a handsy politician...all and all your typical Winchester Mash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Welcome to The Winchester Monster Mash Scavenger Hunt!!!**
> 
> I've hidden 13 costumes throughout this chapter for you to find and name. Those who get the most right will win a super cute Destiel sticker! I only have 10 available, so it's first come first serve. Honor system here, folks so... no Googling! I'll post the results next week when I post the next chapter. :3
> 
> Couple of things: Anna/Chuck and Marcin&Fam both count as 1 costume each. Cameos (like Azazel and Alistair) don't count. If I name the costume specifically, it doesn't count. You're looking for the unnamed ones, get it, got it? Good! :D
> 
> **A MILLION THANKS to DaddysGracelessAngel who has created a graphic for this occasion!** You are AWESOME!! <3 <3 <3 (It's not quite ready yet, so I'll be updating later tonight as soon as it's ready to go!!) :3
> 
> So grab a Green Scream, have fun and enjoy~!! :D

* * *

* * *

The 31st of October dawned bright and sunny over the city, the crisp smell of dried leaves mixing with petrol lingering in the air outside. Steam from the sewers rose up from the streets, creating an eerie effect in the early morning where the whispers of the departed might just slip through the veil and into the world of the living. It was Halloween in the city, and the flavor in the air was one of magic and mischief—on a night like tonight, anything was possible.

Dean had his phone to his ear, pinching it to his shoulder as he talked to Cas on his break over at The Plaza so that his hands were free to open the box that had just showed up at his door.

“So how are we playing this tonight?” Dean asked him, slicing open the box with the penknife on his key ring, “You work until 7, right?”

“Yes. I assumed I would run home to change and then meet you at the party,” Castiel replied over the line.

“Sounds good. I gotta be there early anyway to help my dad, so...”

Dean trailed off, finally getting the box open. He pulled out the contents and held it up to look at it.

“Heh. So, did you try on your costume yet?” he asked.

“No, it arrived after I left this morning,” Castiel replied. “I received a notification email on my phone.”

The phone was new—Cas’s first smartphone—and Dean had been helping him all week figure out how it worked. He had the email and messaging functions down, but he still talked how Dean’s granddad would about the thing.

Castiel hesitated over the line.

“I hope it isn’t too embarrassing…”

“It’s just a duck costume, Cas, promise,” Dean said for perhaps the tenth time that week.

Castiel had let him pick it out. The man really put a lot of faith in him, honestly. Of course, he’d been threatened with bodily harm if the costume was in any way inappropriate (“ _NO slutty ducks, Dean._ ”) but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still have some fun.

Dean bounced on his feet in excited anticipation.

“Hey, I gotta go. Gotta try this thing on and pull a few things together for the party tonight,” Dean said, “Sam should be here soon too.”

“Yes, alright. My break is almost over,” Castiel said, “I will see you tonight, Dean.”

“Later, Ducky,” Dean said.

He made a quacking-kissing noise over the phone and then hung up.

* * *

It took Dean a couple of hours to finish his costume (most of which was spent watching Youtube videos on how to paint a t-shirt) and then the only thing left to do was hang it to dry and wait for the party to start.

Sam’s flight was delayed, which messed up their plans for lunch later that afternoon, but it gave Dean time to get a few other things done around the apartment that he’d been meaning to do. Sam would be arriving just in time for the party, so Dean would see him and Jess there.

He was a little nervous about that. He’d been hoping him and his brother would have time to chat a little before Sam met Castiel that night at the party.

Still, it wasn’t as though he had anything to worry about. Sam was already on board with Dean’s new relationship status. If anything, Dean had to be worried about Bobby and his father. The former would be arriving separately from Sam and Jess. The latter expected him to show up with his _girlfriend_.

Dean let out a long exhale and shook his head. Not much he could do about _that_.

* * *

It was a crazy night.

Dean arrived early as planned to help orchestrate the setup with his father, then stood around greeting the guests as they arrived. Dean wished he could have arrived with Cas, but it would have raised too many questions. He’d have to make do with the way things currently stood.

Dean kept one eye on the door the whole time he was shaking hands and making nice with his father’s rich business contacts, and though Dean knew what he was looking for from the pictures online, _nothing_ could have prepared him for the real deal. Half past eight he caught a glimpse of yellow fabric. Dean dropped the hand he was shaking to stare across the room and take in the sight.

Castiel stood in the doorway to The Plaza Hotel’s ballroom in a bright-yellow duck onesie and a pair of equally bright orange duck slippers. The hood on the onesie sported an orange beak to match the slippers and the back had a small yellow flap of a tail. The sleeves were attached to the main body of the costume to look like wings, and the yellow fuzzy gloves were designed so that one could either wear them or fold them back so that their hands remained free. He seemed out of place and uncomfortable in the strange outfit, his face red in embarrassment as he surveyed the large banquet hall for Dean.

Dean ducked away— _ha—_ from his father to go and greet him and felt his stomach flop over as he strode up to the man.

He looked _fucking_ adorable with the little flappy arms and tail. Dean grinned at him and wished they weren’t in public so that he could wrap Castiel up in his arms and kiss him silly. He made do by pulling on Cas’s hood, tugging it down further to cover his eyes.

“You make the cutest little ducky,” Dean said by way of a greeting.

Castiel tugged the hood back from his eyes and made a gurgling noise that belied how embarrassed he really was.

“I look ridiculous,” he said, gulping.

“You look scrumptious,” Dean replied.

Cas swept his eyes over the costume Dean was wearing for the first time and opened his mouth, presumably to ask what it was. Before he could, Dean heard a deep booming voice from behind him.

“Dean!” His father was suddenly at his side, gripping his elbow. “Son, we weren’t finished.”

Dean shot Cas an apologetic look and let his father steer him back toward the group of businessmen, some of which Dean recognized from the LA branch and others he had met here in the city.

One of them was a sandy-haired older man with a cleft chin and a crooked smile. Dean recognized him from one of the first meetings he’d attended when he and John first arrived in the city. He was the grease-bag who had tried to wheedle them into a bad deal, if he recalled.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Dean asked, shaking the man’s hand stiffly.

“A demon, obviously,” the man replied snidely, pointing to his eyes. He was wearing opaque contacts that made his irises look like runny egg yolks.

“Really? A demon?” Dean said skeptically, “What kind of demon has yellow eyes?”

The man frowned and withdrew his hand.

“Everyone goes with black or red,” the man replied coldly.

“Uh huh,” Dean said. He gave the guy a tight smile and a condescending nod. “Well, it’s certainly original, I’ll give you that.”

Dean’s smile dropped and he moved on to the next lowlife, a tall man with a long neck and scruffy beard. His voice when he spoke forced shivers up Dean’s spine. His ‘demon’ costume consisted of white eyes—another fucking _original_. Dean rolled his eyes once the man’s back was turned. Filmy contacts must be in this year. A number of their guests were masquerading as ‘demons’, wearing normal clothes and pretending to be ‘possessed humans’. It was just plain lazy in Dean’s opinion.

John Winchester, as always, had gone all-out for the party. The Winchester Monster Mash was known for being _the_ Halloween party to be at when it came to anybody who was somebody. If you weren’t on the list, you might as well throw on a pair of sad mouse ears and shuffle off to a haunted corn maze.

John was dressed this year as what he called a ‘rugaru.’ Dean was pretty sure he’d made it up. It sounded made up.

Regardless of the costume’s origin, Dean had to admit it did look pretty cool—it was certainly one of the best costumes in the room, sans Dean’s _personal_ favorite. His opinion was heavily biased, though, to be fair.

Dean did his best to pay attention as John continued to tow him around the room doing the ‘proud dad’ circuit. He was hell-bent on introducing Dean to every single important business contact in the joint, and it was getting honestly exhausting.

He was also tired of dodging questions about his costume. Every time he answered the person asking expected an explanation. The best he could do without spilling the truth was to either say he’d lost a bet or that it was an inside joke. The questions tended to stop after that.

Suddenly there was a high-pitched shout and the sound of a loud _slap._ Heads turned to see a man in a Bill Clinton mask go tumbling backward into a crowd of party guests, a woman in a long red cloak and a porcelain mask standing above him with her hand raised post-strike. John left Dean with the tall clean-shaven businessman he’d been introducing and rushed over to see what the damage was. Dean silently thanked whoever was listening for the welcome distraction.

Dean had been mid-shake with the businessman when the disturbance occurred and so he barely heard it when the guy said, “Please, call me Dick.”

“Uh huh,” Dean replied automatically, attention diverted to the other end of the hall.

He craned his neck over his shoulder, following his father through the crowd. He glanced back at the businessman and gave him a quick once-over, attempting to figure out what he was supposed to be. There was a large poster board hung around his neck by a string with the heading, _‘Ballot_ ,’ and an arrow pointing down. One of the boxes underneath was dangling off the side, leaving an empty space at his waistline. Dean assumed it was a play on words, but didn’t care enough to ask.

“Excuse me, _Dick_ ,” Dean said rudely, then rushed after his father.

He made it across the room in under a minute.

“What the hell happened?” Dean demanded. His dad and Bobby were holding the Bill Clinton wannabe between them and were struggling to keep a hold on him. The guy was hugging a bowl of candy corn tightly to his chest.

“What’s it look like? An _impeachment_ ,” Bobby said sarcastically.

“I want to say one thing to the American People!” the guy in their grasp shouted in a bad politician impersonation, “I want you to listen to me! I’m going to say this again. I did _not_ have sexual relations w-with that w-w-hee hee hee…”

He couldn’t get to the end of the quote before breaking off into hysterics.

“Oh yeah, he’s baked,” Dean chuckled, “Need any help?” he asked his dad.

“I think we’ve got it handled,” John said. “Go on, have some fun. You’ve earned it.”

Dean grinned and left them to it. He turned back to the party and made a beeline for the lost little duckling standing in the middle of the room.

Dean came up behind Castiel and placed a hand on his ass in greeting.

“Hey,” Dean said warmly over his shoulder, “How’s the party?”

“Good,” Castiel replied. The hand on his ass slid off as he turned around to face Dean. “Someone keeps giving me drinks.”

There was a light flush to his cheeks, but whether that was from the alcohol or the attention to his backside, Dean couldn’t be sure.

“Score,” Dean said. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Dude, you just missed it. Some handsy Bill Clinton just got chucked out the door. It’s not even _nine_ , I think it might be a record.” Dean grinned at Cas, his green eyes twinkling in good-humor.

“He was the one giving me drinks.” Castiel looked down into his cup, suddenly suspicious of its contents. He deposited it in a nearby trash can and then turned back to Dean. “Does this sort of thing typically happen at your family’s parties?” Cas asked him.

“What do _you_ think? You read the tabloids,” Dean said.

Castiel tilted his head and thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Ah, yes, now I remember.” He grinned. “I believe my favorite was when the ‘Queen of England’ chased you with her scepter while yelling ‘off with his head!’”

“She got in a few swings before someone grabbed her off me if I remember it right,” Dean said, chuckling, “And it wasn’t my noggin she was threatening to cut off, just for the record.”

The look on Castiel’s face at that was priceless. He let out a surprised bark of laughter.

“What is with the crazy politicians?” Castiel asked.

Dean laughed.

“I don’t know, man.”

Just then Dean caught sight of a large, plaid-wearing figure across the room.

“Cas, that’s my brother, Sammy,” Dean said, slapping him on the arm and grinning brightly. He tugged excitedly on Cas’s sleeve. “Come on, I want you to meet him.”

They made their way across the large ballroom, guided by the looming pillar of plaid and shaggy brown hair in the middle of it.

“Dean!” Sam flashed him a big smile as Dean strode up to him, opening his arms for a hug. Dean walked into them and gripped his brother tightly around the shoulders. He had to stand on his tip-toes to do so.

“Sammy, it’s good to see you,” Dean said, stepping out of his brother’s embrace and clapping him on the shoulder. He looked down at Sam’s outfit. “What, you didn’t like the clown costume I sent you?” he teased.

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” Sam said, “For the record? I burned it. The jerky was good though.”

“Right!?” Dean exclaimed.

Dean grinned at his brother and then moved Castiel in front of him.

“Sam, this is Cas. Cas, this is my brother, Sammy,” Dean introduced.

“Cute costume,” Sam said, engulfing Cas’s hand in his Sasquatch-sized grip, “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Thank you, you as well,” Castiel replied, shaking his hand, “Who are you supposed to be?” he asked.

“Paul Bunion,” Sam replied. “Jess is around somewhere. She’s dressed as the Blue Buffalo.”

“Nice, bet she was happy about that,” Dean said. He shot Sam what his little brother referred to as his ‘jerk face’—a nod with a wide smile stretched out across his face like a girl had just flashed him her tits. He followed it up with a dirty chuckle.

“Actually, she’s the one who thought of it,” Sam corrected, “I said I was tired of dressing up for this dumb thing and that I was just going to go in my normal clothes.” He shrugged. “So, she suggested Paul Bunion.”

Dean leaned in to Cas.

“See, Sam here is a bit of a Black Sheep. He doesn’t like Halloween,” Dean told him.

“Is that so?” Castiel said. “It seems like a dangerous opinion in this family.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. His attention moved to his brother’s costume. His brow furrowed.

“So, tell me Dean, what the hell are _you_ supposed to be?”

“Yes, I would like to know as well,” Castiel said, turning to him. “I have been trying to figure it out for some time now.”

Dean gestured down at himself. His costume was a hot dog sans the dog. He was wearing a white tee he had painted with large blotches of olive green and his typical ratty jeans.

“Duh, I’m a hot dog bun,” Dean answered.

“Then what’s with all the green?” Sam asked.

“Oh!” Castiel blurted. He slapped his hands over his mouth as it hit him and exclaimed out from under them. “It’s mold!”

“Haha, yep,” Dean said, grinning at him, “I’m a moldy hot dog bun.” He held out his arms as if to say _“Ta da!”_ Sam shot him a look that clearly said ‘ _what the fuck_? Dean licked his lips. “It’s uh…heh, kind of an inside joke.”

His eyes flitted to Cas, who blushed red. The color was extra noticeable against the bright yellow of his costume.

“Let me guess, it’s a dirty joke,” Sam said dryly. He quirked an eyebrow at Dean, who laughed.

“There _is_ a sexual undercurrent,” Castiel said before he could deny it, “Ducks eat bread…so I believe the implication is that I eat _you_?” Cas glanced to Dean, who grinned shamelessly at him.

“You know it,” Dean said, winking at him, “Can’t get enough of me.”

Castiel’s blush deepened. Sam snorted and rolled his eyes.

“But it’s…more than that,” Castiel continued, eyes softening into an adoring look that caught Dean’s breath. Sam cleared his throat loudly when the eye-fucking lingered past three-Mississippis.

“I helped Cas feed the ducks in Central Park,” Dean explained, snapping out of it and turning back to his brother, “There’s kind of a story behind it, but…that was the first time we were on the same page about things, I think.”

Here Dean looked to Cas again, who smiled shyly and nodded his agreement. Dean was pretty sure he was remembering their kiss in Central Park. That, or the following kiss in the belfry.

Hell, he could be remembering a lot of things. It had been a busy week.

Sam grinned widely at them, moved by their open show of affection.

“And he refused to go as a slutty angel,” Dean added.

Sam chuckled just as Castiel snorted.

“Well, you did a good job picking a matching pair that no one will notice,” Sam said. He pulled out his phone. “Okay, get in together. Picture time.”

Cas waddled closer to Dean, who looped an arm around his back and pulled him in until they were pressed together, hip to hip. Sam took a number of shots of them in their costumes and then lowered the phone and flipped it around to show them.

Dean dropped the arm he had wrapped around Cas’s back but didn’t move away. Castiel looked away, a light blush painted on his cheeks and Dean grinned at him knowingly.

“My favorite so far,” Dean declared.

Castiel’s head swiveled back to him, eyes widening at the significance of that line.

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, blushing deeper, “Mine as well.”

The eye-fucking went on for a good five Mississippis that time, and Sam snorted as he flipped through the photos.

“Too bad no one knows you’re dating,” he commented, “You’d win best dressed couple for sure.”

“Yeah right, Sammy,” Dean said, shifting awkwardly and finally taking a step away from Cas—not that he wanted to, but his dad _was_ floating around somewhere. “Ours doesn’t even make sense unless you know the story. Naw, you and Jess would totally win over us.”

Dean glanced across the room, where Jess was attempting to get her boyfriend’s attention. Sam gave her a little smile and held up his hand. He turned back to his brother and his date.

“Speaking of, gotta go,” he said. “I’ll catch you two later. And we should do dinner tomorrow,” Sam said. “I’d like to see what you look like in normal clothes,” he said to Castiel.

Cas flushed a little.

“Yes, I would like that as well,” he said.

“Sam, you know dad’s gonna want to do dinner,” Dean said, cautioning him.

“So I’ll get out of it, tell him Jess and I want to do a couples thing,” Sam said.

Dean shrugged.

“Your funeral,” he said.

Sam flashed him a smile and broke away toward his girlfriend.

Castiel looked out over the crowd.

“I see Anna,” he said, pressing a hand to Dean’s arm. “I will meet back with you later.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Cas gave him a little smile and trailed his fingers down Dean’s arm before giving his hand a little squeeze. Then he turned away and headed over to greet his friend. Dean watched him go, then scanned out over the crowd himself for any more familiar faces. He caught sight of Marcin by the door with a stout woman and shorter blonde that he assumed was his daughter Kalina. They were dressed in matching red spandex with black boots and gloves and a large ‘ _I’_ in the middle of their chests in gold. 

Dean swiveled his head to the other side of the room. Kevin and his mother were over by the food table. Kevin was wearing a red Chinese-styled tunic with golden trim. Two curved swords hung at his belt and a large red scar was painted over one eye. His mother was dressed in a white nightgown with a red-polka dotted housecoat. Her hair was done up in hair rollers and a fake cigarette hung between her lips. Dean grinned at that one—the more he saw of the woman, the more Dean discovered how freakin’ _badass_ she was.

Suddenly there was a slap upside his head.

“ _OW!_ ” Dean exclaimed, rubbing his head.

An older man with a beard and a scowl on his face swung into his line of sight. He was dressed in a forest green uniform with a star-shaped badge pinned to his lapel. The patch on his sleeve read _Harper’s Island_.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?” the man groused at him.

“Nice to see you too, Bobby,” Dean said, ducking away from another slap aimed at him.

“Next time you dump one of our biggest clients give me a heads up first, you hear me _boy_!?” Bobby admonished him. “I ain’t getting any younger. I swear you’re gonna be the death of me.” Bobby paused and took a breath. “And since _when_ ,”—Here his voice hushed down to a whisper. He grabbed Dean by the edge of his costume and pulled him down to speak to him—“Since when do you bring a _date_ to a party with your _dad_?”

“W-what the hell are you talking about, Bobby,” Dean asked, lips wagging.

“Damnit, you _know_ what,” Bobby growled at him, “I _know_ , ya idjit. What, you think just cuz I’m _old_ doesn’t mean I can’t see what’s going on?”

“B-bobby,” Dean stuttered helplessly, “Come on.” Bobby just shot him a steely look and raised an eyebrow. Dean sighed and gave up the gig. “Ok, fine. You got me. Since when have you known anyway?” Dean asked him.

Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Since I took you to little league practice and caught you pattin’ your teammates’ rear-ends,” he said, “Not much has changed there. Don’t know how your daddy never figured it out.” He said with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, well, don’t go telling him,” Dean said. “This is...” he dropped his voice, “This is the first time things have been serious with a dude—with anyone, really,” he admitted. “I gotta tell him when I’m ready.”

“I know that, ya idjit!” Bobby snapped at him, smacking him again—though Dean was sure this time there was mostly affection in that backhand. “The hell you take me for anyhow?”

“Okay, alright! Thank you!” Dean said, ducking away from him.

“Now,” Bobby said, straightening and letting him go, “Why don’t you take me over to meet him?”

Dean blinked and gulped.

“Uh,” he said intelligently, “You want to m-meet him?”

Bobby sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, you’d think we were at the prom or somethin’. _Yes_ , I’d like to meet him, ya idjit. I don’t _bite._ Now get movin’!”

“R-right,” Dean said. He gulped down the rest of his nerves and suddenly wished he had a drink to chase them with.

He led Bobby over to the small group of friends standing by the buffet table. Castiel was speaking with Anna and her date for the evening, who Dean recognized as the man she’d been with the night at the club.

“Anna, hey,” Dean greeted, “Who’s your friend?”

“Dean, this is Chuck,” Anna introduced.

The scruffy-bearded man held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Chuck said.

Dean’s eyes moved over their costumes. Anna was dressed in a patchwork dress with white face paint and black stitching. Chuck was made up similarly but with a large black smile painted across his face instead of stiches. He was wearing a white pinstriped suit complete with a black bowtie. His fingers were painted to resemble the long, claw-like digits of a skeleton.

“Ditto,” Dean said, “Cool costumes by the way. You guys enjoying the party?”

“Yes, very much,” Anna said. Her brow furrowed. “Your costume is…interesting,” she said.

“Heh, thanks,” Dean replied. He looked to Castiel, who flushed pink. He wondered if Cas had explained it to her.

Bobby cleared his throat loudly. Dean jumped a little.

“Right. Cas, this is my dad’s business partner and a friend of the family, Bobby Singer,” Dean introduced.

Bobby took Castiel’s yellow-fuzz-covered hand and gave it a good, strong shake.

“Nice to meet you. Good to know someone’s looking out for this idjit,” Bobby said.

“Ah…yes…?” Castiel craned his neck forward and blinked, unsure of what to say to that.

“It’s okay, Cas, he knows,” Dean said, touching his arm. Castiel’s eyes flickered to Dean, then back to Bobby.

“I see,” Castiel said. He gave Bobby’s hand a little squeeze and smiled warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bobby.”

Bobby just grunted.

“Well, ain’t you the charmer,” he said gruffly.

Dean grinned and clapped a hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“Don’t let his rough exterior fool you. Bobby here is about as soft as they come,” Dean said.

“Get off me!” Bobby snapped, shrugging him off.

Dean just laughed and moved away from him. He took Cas by the hand.

“Come on, I could use a drink,” he said. He left Bobby to speak with Anna and Chuck and tugged Cas over to the punch bowl.

“Your family is very nice,” Castiel said quietly as Dean poured him a drink. Dean handed it over to him with a smile.

“Yup, they’re a bunch of sentimental idiots but…yeah, they’re pretty awesome,” Dean said.

He grinned as he saw his dad sidle up to Sam and Jess. The older man clapped a large hand on his younger son’s shoulder and grinned at him proudly. He said something and then leaned in to Jessica and winked. Dean laughed at the instant blush that covered his brother’s face, and assumed his dad had just said something incredibly embarrassing.

Castiel looked on with him, sipping at his drink and wearing a slight frown. He looked down into his cup.

“My family is…nothing like this,” he said quietly.

“Cas, hey,” Dean said. He took Cas by the arm, rubbing up and down the yellow fuzz of his sleeve. “You’ve got a great family here. Paul and Anna. Marcin—” Dean gestured around the room. “Something Bobby always told me. ‘Family doesn’t end with blood.’ These people love you, Cas. _They’re_ your real family,” he said.

_And me too_ , he thought, but didn’t say it.

Castiel nodded, distracted.

“Perhaps you are right,” he said.

“I know I’m right,” Dean replied. His thumb drew circles on Castiel’s arm. “Who knows, maybe one day things will be different,” he said, “Maybe your family will come around.”

“I doubt that very much,” Castiel replied. He downed his drink and reached again for the punch ladle. “It would take some sort of miracle for them to accept me as I am.”

“Hey, who says miracles can’t happen?” Dean replied. “You agreed to go out with me—that’s got to count.”

Castiel looked up at him and smiled.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he said. He looked like he was about to say something else when suddenly there was an arm around his neck.

“Hey nerds,” Charlie greeted. She looped her other arm around Dean gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “What’s the damage?”

Dean chuckled.

“You’re drunk,” he said.

“I’m _shiny_ ,” Charlie replied. “This punch is the shit. How much rum is in it, anyway?”

She reached for another cup.

“Enough to drown a pirate,” Dean answered her. “You should take it easy.” He glanced at Cas, who was on his second or third cup as well. “You too, Ducky.”

“I assure you, I can handle my alcohol just fine, thanks,” Castiel quipped at him, tilting up his chin.

Dean laughed.

“Sure, okay,” he said, “Guess we’ll find out when you waddle on home later.”

“Oh!” Charlie exclaimed suddenly. She was looking off into the crowd, on a complete other wavelength. “Wow! Look at _that_. Pardon me guys, hot Hermione alert. Catch ya later, bitches.”

She made a muffled noise like she was attempting not to orgasm on the spot and then grabbed another cup of punch and sashayed through the crowd to her target. It was then that Dean realized she was wearing matching robes to the girl she had her eyes on—black with accents of red and gold. Dean watched as Charlie curtsied a little, handed Hermione the cup of punch, and then leaned in to say something that had the other woman blushing. He laughed.

“She’s good,” he noted.

Castiel hummed in agreement.

“I imagine they’ll be leaving the party pretty early,” he said.

“I give it ten minutes,” Dean agreed.

“Five,” Castiel said.

“It’s a bet,” Dean said, turning to him with a mischievous grin, “So what’s the prize?”

A seductive smile spread across Castiel’s face. His fingers played with the bottom edge of Dean’s tee-shirt, the back of his knuckles brushing against the bare skin of his stomach and sending shivers up Dean’s spine and down between his legs.

“That depends on the winner,” Castiel answered, dropping his voice to a low, rumbling gravel. “What do you want?”

Dean inhaled sharply.

“Seriously? I want to ravage you on a pile of fluffy hotel pillows until you quack,” he said.

He tugged on the hood to Castiel’s costume. Castiel snorted, as though to say that he had expected as much.

“And if you win?” Dean asked him.

Castiel tilted his head to the side and pretended to think about it for a minute.

“If I win…you must dress up as a French Maid,” he decided.

Dean felt a jolt of warmth run through him at the thought. He feigned indifference, however, and rolled his eyes.

“Not letting that one go, huh?” he said. He rather hoped Cas couldn’t see the blush creeping across his nose.

“I believe the appropriate idiom is ‘getting a taste of your own medicine’,” Castiel replied, “Or karma.” There was the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

They watched as Charlie made her move on the ‘Hot Hermione’—a quick, fiery kiss that had her witch grinning seductively. Low and behold, not two minutes later Charlie was grabbing her by the hand and towing her out of the ballroom.

“Damn,” Dean cursed. He shot Cas a look. “I’m gonna get you on those pillows one of these days,” he vowed shamelessly.

Castiel grinned up at him.

“I look forward to it,” he flirted back, “I also look forward to my reward for winning our bet.”

Dean leaned closer and licked his lips.

“Oh yeah?” he said, taken in by those playful blue eyes. “You want me to throw in a little strip tease for you? I know how much you like that.”

Castiel made a strangled noise in his throat, eyes dropping to Dean’s lips. He leaned closer and for a second the rest of the room faded away.

Then there was a loud boom of “Dean! There you are!” and suddenly John Winchester was behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. Dean started and turned to his father.

“Dad! Uh, hey,” Dean said. He gave his dad a weak smile, nerves jittering under his skin. He could feel his fingers tingling where he’d dropped Castiel’s sleeve in a hurry. _Holy hell_ they had almost kissed right here in the middle of the party with his dad front and center. Dean felt his heart thud unpleasantly against his chest, his stomach suddenly turned sour.

“Who’s your friend?” John asked, turning to Castiel. Dean caught a whiff of rum on the man’s breath.

Thank _God_ for the punch. It would not be the last time Dean thought that tonight.

“Dad, this is Cas,” Dean introduced. His voice shook a little and he covered it up by clearing his throat.

Castiel held out his hand.

“Mr. Winchester, it’s a pleasure,” Castiel greeted.

John took it and gave it an enthusiastic shake.

“Please, call me John,” the man said. His brow pinched together suddenly. “You look familiar…” He trailed off, trying to place where he’d seen Castiel before. Dean gulped, wondering if he’d figure it out.

“I work for the hotel,” Castiel supplied, dropping his hand.

A look of recognition crossed John’s face.

“The bellboy,” the older man said, nodding. His brow furrowed deeper. “How did you two become friends?” he asked, turning to Dean.

“Oh, uh…” Dean thought fast, the lie formulating on his tongue so easily it surprised him, “I ran into him and Anna at a bar one night.” Dean lifted one shoulder in a shrug, as if to say it was funny how things worked out. “Turns out we have a lot in common,” Dean continued.

He caught the flash of amusement in Castiel’s eyes and did his best to resist the grin trying to work its way onto his face. _A lot in common_. _Heh._

“Well, you seem like a bright young man,” John told Cas, “Dean can use more friends like you.”

Dean flushed. His old man was definitely a little tipsy. He wasn’t usually this loose-lipped.

“Yes, we are…close,” Castiel replied awkwardly.

“Good.” John grinned widely at him and then gripped Dean by the back of the neck in a fatherly way. “So! Dean. Where’s this girl you’ve been seeing? I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Uh.” Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas. “S-she couldn’t make it,” he said.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed instantly and Dean winced, wishing he could take it back. He felt about three hundred different kinds of horrible in that second. In the next, however, John was continuing.

“That’s a shame, I was looking forward to meeting her,” his father was saying. The older man shrugged. “Ah well, another time. Perhaps she can join us for dinner some night. Ask her, will you?”

“Y-yeah,” Dean mumbled, looking down into his drink cup, “Sure thing...”

“Good,” John said again. He turned back to Cas. “So, Cas was it?” At Castiel’s nod, John continued. “You got a girlfriend too?” John asked conversationally.

“Do I—? Ah…n-no,” Castiel stuttered, turning a little red. He hesitated and glanced up at Dean, then shifted uncomfortably and added, “I am in a relationship, however.” He looked down into his cup and let the implication of his comment sink in.

Dean felt a jolt go through him as soon as the words left his lips. _What the hell was Cas doing?_

“Oh,” John blurted, “I see.” His hesitation was brief. “Well, good for you,” John commented awkwardly.

Dean kept his face carefully blank so that when his father turned to look at him, he seemed completely unaffected by the comment. He took a casual sip of his drink and wondered if Cas had said it to get back at him for his own caught-out lie. He felt irritation flare up at that thought.

“Well, I’m going to go grab a bite to eat,” John said a moment later. He seemed eager to leave them be. “I’ll let you two enjoy the party.” John gave Dean one last clap on the shoulder and turned back to Cas. “It was nice to meet you, son,” John said.

Castiel flushed, but whether it was from the endearing title or the compliment, Dean couldn’t be sure.

“Th-thank you,” Castiel stuttered, “You as well.”

John gave him an equally endearing pat on the shoulder and then moved off into the crowd.

Dean spoke up as soon as he was gone.

“ _Cas_ —” he started to say.

Castiel cut him off before he could say any more.

“Dean, I am not going to apologize for what I said,” Castiel declared.

“It was risky,” Dean reproached him, frowning.

“I don’t care,” Castiel said. He looked up at Dean with steely eyes. “Dean, I have been openly gay since I was a teenager. I have no intentions of outing you to your father, but neither am I going to pretend to be someone I am not. I refuse to go back into the closet for anyone…not even you.”

“Fine,” Dean grumbled, relenting, “But now we gotta be extra careful or he’s going to start suspecting things.”

“I fail to see how that could be a bad thing,” Castiel replied flatly.

“Because, Cas—” Dean broke off and growled, frustrated. “Look, I get it sucks. And I want to tell him, I do. But…I’m just not ready to do that yet. And the last thing I want is for him to find out on his own.”

“No, I agree,” Castiel said. He looked down into his cup. His bright mood from earlier had disappeared.

“Cas…” Dean’s hand was suddenly at the side of his face, cupping his cheek and rubbing his thumb across the bristles of his five o’clock shadow. “It won’t be like this forever, I promise,” he said softly.

Castiel shook his head, and Dean let his hand fall away.

“Dean, I am the last person to dictate what you choose to tell your family,” he said.

“I plan on telling him,” Dean insisted, “I’m not ashamed of you, Cas. I—” Dean broke off, realizing what he’d just been about to say. “I care about you, you know that. But it’s gotta be the right time, and I gotta do it on my own terms. And tonight’s just not that night. He’s pretty toasted, for one.”

“Yes, I understand,” Castiel replied. He fiddled with his cup, then downed it and moved over to the punch bowl to fill it up again. His blue eyes flickered up to meet Dean’s. “Your brother and Bobby know already. It is more than I expected,” he said.

“He likes you,” Dean pointed out, “It’s a start.”

Castiel smiled, though there wasn’t any warmth behind it.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he murmured.

Three figures suddenly barreled by them, nearly knocking Cas into the punch bowl. Dean caught him about the shoulders just in time and righted him back on his feet, then turned to see what the commotion was all about.

It was the IT guys Ed and Harry (Dean really didn’t know why he agreed to invite them, but for the fact that they’d overheard him talking to Charlie and…well, he was a moron, that was why.) They were currently chasing some kid in a black and silver jumpsuit and a silver wig through the crowd. They had their fake weapons drawn and were pointing them at the kid, who yelped when Ed caught up to him and grabbed him by the arm.

“Stop right there, phantom fiend!” Ed said dramatically.

“I told you, I’m not the bad guy here!!” the kid yelled at his pursuers.

“Tell that to my _little friend_!” Harry said in a bad Tony Montana impression. He held up his gun with a dramatic flair. It was attached to him via a blocky cardboard backpack that was designed to look like some kind of technology and a cut-off extension cord. Both he and Ed wore matching tan jumpsuits.

The silver-haired kid stared at Harry like he was a freaking moron. Dean snorted as he watched them and had to admit, he was having second thoughts about hiring them again.

Harry jerked his gun away as Ed stepped forward with his own ‘little friend’.

“Ed, how many times do I have to tell you!?” he said, “ _Don’t_ cross the streams!!”

“Harry, that’s only when they’re powered up,” Ed argued.

“I hate to be the one to say this, Ed, but we _can’t_ power them up because they are _fake_ ,” Harry argued back, “But maybe you could take this seriously for five minutes? You’re ruining the ambiance, man.”

“ _I’m_ ruining the ambiance?” Ed said, “You made your pack out of a Fruit Loops _cereal box,_ man.”

“It was the _value size_ ,” Harry defended. “You can’t even tell.”

“I can read the label through the sharpie you colored over it,” Ed shot back.

Harry huffed and shouldered his gun, turning his full attention to Ed.

“Well maybe if you hadn’t spent our entire costume budget on _weed_ ,” he said.

“Hey, man, don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy it too.”

“Ed, I had to eat the _entire box_ of Fruit Loops in _two hours_ ,” Harry complained.

The kid with the silver hair, who had been inching away while the two were arguing, suddenly stopped and stared at them blankly.

“Why didn’t you just take out the bag?” he asked.

The two turned to him and stared like the thought had never occurred to them. Then Ed raised his gun and said, “Where do you think you’re going!?”

The kid gave him a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, man, this stopped being fun like…ten minutes ago. I’m gonna go get some Funyuns.”

He disappeared into the crowd in a very ghost-like fashion.

Dean chuckled and turned back to Cas, who was grinning at his side.

“Score one more for the Mash,” Dean said humorously.

The party continued in a whirlwind of festivities, with the guests becoming more and more inebriated as the night wore on. Castiel was speaking with Anna again, and had left him to fend for himself with Chuck, who was a writer, Dean learned. The man was rambling on about one of his latest epics when Dean caught sight of a familiar face across the room.

“Oh _crap_.”

The person in question turned her head and saw him. She had long, straight brown hair—so dark it was almost black—and sharp eyebrows that rose over a pair of deep brown eyes. Her lips were pursed together in a thick line of bright red lipstick. She was wearing a large, wide-rimmed red hat and matching trench coat.

“ _Shit_ , she’s coming over.” Dean glanced to Chuck. “What do I do?”

Chuck blinked at him, mouth dropping open.

“How the hell should I know?” Chuck replied, “I don’t even know who she is.” His attention swiveled to Anna, who was still talking to Cas a few feet away. “Good luck, man,” Chuck said, rushing off.

“Chuck! God damn it,” Dean cursed.

Chuck had _abandoned_ him. The spineless coward. Dean glared after the man. He was so not getting Dean’s blessing for that. Anna could do way better in his opinion.

There was suddenly a hand on his arm and a brunette head in his line of sight.

“Hey Dean, remember me?”

“Carmen, hey,” Dean said uneasily, turning to her with a faked charming smile. Holy _Christ_. “What are you doing here?” He tried to ask it as politely as possible.

“I was invited?” Carmen said. She quirked her eyebrow at him. Dean just stared at her, brain still trying to catch up with the situation. He rather felt like he’d just had a ton of bricks dropped on him. Carmen pointed into the crowd to a gangly man in a scrappy-looking suit and a bow-tie. “That’s my agent,” she said.

“Right,” Dean said with a frown, “Of course it is.” He let out a breath. He should have known they ran in similar circles. The club where they’d met was known for that sort of clientele. It’s why he chose it. But he _never_ expected to run into her again, let alone here, _tonight_. He rather felt like the universe was playing one big horrible joke on him.

“Nice costume,” Dean offered nervously, “Classic.”

Carmen hummed and stepped closer to him. She ran her finger down his green-splotched shirt.

“You never came back the other night,” she said in a sultry voice. “I was disappointed.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Dean offered in apology. He stepped back from her and she dropped her hand, shooting him a confused look at the obvious rejection. Dean cleared his throat.

“Carmen, you should know. I’m…I’m kind of with someone now.”

Carmen’s brow pitched together. She glanced around.

“Really?” she said, “I don’t see anyone.”

Dean glanced over to Cas, who was watching them intently.

“Yes, really,” Dean said, turning back to her, “Sorry. It was good to see you but I gotta scram.”

He started to move away but then caught sight of his father pushing through the crowded ballroom to get to them.

“Oh fucking _hell_ ,” Dean cursed loudly. He turned back to Carmen. “Ok, whatever happens next, just roll with it,” he told her in a quick, panicked voice. He pulled out the puppy eyes and amped the _pathetic asshat_ look up to maximum. “I mean it—whatever you want. Just play along for the next five minutes, okay?”

There wasn’t enough time to get an answer out of her before John was suddenly there standing between them.

“Dean, who’s your pretty friend?” John asked. He glanced between them, then looked at his son expectantly. 

Dean swallowed a groan and sent Carmen another rendition of his pathetic puppy-dog face. He cleared his throat.

“Dad, this is Carmen. Carmen, this is my father, John Winchester.”

John held out his hand and grinned widely.

“The mysterious _Carmen._ I was wondering where you might turn up,” John said. The older man chuckled at his own joke, an obvious pun on her costume. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m glad you could make it.”

A curious look passed across Carmen’s face as John said that. The older man glanced to his son, the grin stretching wider across his bearded face.

“Dean tells me you’re a model,” John said. He flashed Carmen yet another charming Winchester smile. “He failed to mention just how beautiful you are.”

_Oh for the love of_ , Dean thought, rolling his eyes. He glanced away, back to Cas who was still watching them, and then turned back to his father. He gave his old man a tight smile.

“Come on, dad, can’t we do this later?” Dean said. “I’m sure Carmen wants to enjoy the party.”

“Son, this is the first time you’ve invited a girl _anywhere_ and I want to get to know her,” John said firmly. “ _Especially_ since I have her to thank for this new version of you.”

“Yeah, Dean,” Carmen chimed in, smiling sweetly at him. There was a cunning glint in her liquid Italian eyes. “Why don’t you tell your dad how we met?”

_Shit_. He was falling further and further down the rabbit hole of this charade.

“We met at a club,” Dean said shortly, “Really not that interesting.” He glared at Carmen, as much as he could manage with his father standing right there watching them. “ _Babe_ , why don’t we go get you something to eat?”

“Dean,” John said in warning, laying a hand on his son’s shoulder, “Mind your manners. I know introducing your old man to your girl must be scary as hell but I promise I won’t bite. Hell, I won’t even tell any embarrassing stories.” He slid his eyes over to Carmen and winked.

“Great,” Dean said tightly. “What else do you want to know?” he asked, forcing himself to play along. He wanted nothing more than to excuse himself and run away, but he couldn’t leave these two alone for fear that his dad might figure out they weren’t actually dating.

What kind of unholy mess did he get himself into this time?

“Dean says you can sing,” John was saying, snapping Dean’s attention back to the conversation, “I’d love to hear you sometime.” John turned to his son. “Perhaps we can do dinner. Tomorrow night.” He shot Carmen a stern look. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

Dean shook his head frantically while his father’s attention was turned away to her. Carmen saw and opened her mouth, an apology on her tongue.

“Sorry, Mr. Winchester,” she said, “Another time perhaps. I have a late shoot tomorrow.”

Dean heaved a quiet sigh of relief. It seemed Carmen had decided to play along, for whatever reason. Maybe he’d survive this train wreck after all.

“I’ll hold you to that,” John said.

Dean took an opportunity to look around frantically for some form of salvation. Sam was across the room, talking to Jessica. He stood out like a large flannel-covered beacon. Dean tried desperately to catch his attention discretely while his dad chatted with Carmen about her job but wasn’t having any luck.

Then he saw Cas walking over to his brother and held back the sigh of relief. He watched as Cas said something to his brother, who nodded and started walking over. Dean felt gratitude wash over his face. Seriously, how he had ended up with someone so freaking cool was beyond him. He owed the man something fucking _special_ for this rescue.

“Dad, there you are,” Sam said, joining the small group. “Jess and I had something to ask you. You got a minute?”

Sam seemed tense and practically bounced on the balls of his feet, hoping the diversion would work.

“Of course, Sammy,” John said. He shot Carmen one last gracious smile. “Family calls. We’ll talk more later.”

Carmen nodded and John turned away, following Sam back to where Jess was waiting. Dean let out the breath he’d been holding and placed a hand to his brow.

“Holy fuck, I think I just aged about twenty years,” he blurted. He felt dizzy. The room swelled around him and he took in another deep breath to keep hold of his bearings.

“Dean, why does your father think we’re dating?” Carmen asked, tilting her head to the side and looking up at him expectantly.

“Look, I’m sorry you got mixed up in all of this,” Dean said, holding out his hand, “Believe me, if I could set things straight…” He trailed off and chuckled a little hysterically at that ironic choice of words, ran his hand along the back of his neck. “But I can’t. Not tonight. It’s just…it’s not the right time.”

“Right,” Carmen said, rolling her eyes. “I’m just ‘some chick’, right? We meet for what, twenty minutes on the dance floor, make out a little and then you run off. I mean, what the hell, Dean? We’re practically strangers. You at least owe me a proper explanation for lying to your _father_.”

“It’s complicated, alright?” Dean snapped at her. He frowned and rubbed at his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, grumbling under his breath about how messed up it all was. “Look, he asked me for a name a while back and I said the first thing that came to mind. It’s not like I thought I’d ever see you again,” he explained.

“So I’m the imaginary girlfriend?” Carmen replied dryly, crossing her arms. Dean just shrugged and tried to look appropriately guilty. Carmen sighed and let her arms drop to her sides. “Your dad isn’t going to drop this, Dean,” she noted, sounding worried, “He was looking at me like I was his daughter-in-law.”

“He thinks you’re someone else,” Dean said. He looked at the floor. “I can’t tell him who it really is…not yet.”

Dean glanced off into the crowd, eyes drawn to the man in the ridiculous duck onesie and felt his heart lurch. Castiel was watching them intently, concern pinching his brow together in a way that made him look even more adorably edible.

“Now I get it,” Carmen said suddenly, nodding. She had followed Dean’s gaze and caught him staring. “He’s cute,” she said.

Dean jerked his attention back to her, wagging his lips as he tried to find the words to deny everything.

“It’s not—w-we’re not—” he attempted to say.

He stopped abruptly as Carmen shot him a look that said she wasn’t buying what he was selling for a millisecond.

“Come on, Dean,” she said, “You keep staring at him. It’s pretty obvious if you’re paying attention.”

“Ok, fine,” Dean huffed, “You got me.” A frown pulled his face into hard lines that made him seem a lot older than his years. “Now you know why I had to lie.”

He stared down at his feet, feeling all kinds of horrible. Carmen nodded.

“Well, at least now things make sense,” she said. A frown crossed her face as something occurred to her. “Tell me something, Dean, and be honest. When we met on the dance floor, were you thinking of him, or me?”

Dean winced, ashamed.

“Him,” he mumbled.

“Figures,” Carmen said. She twisted her lips up into a wry smile. “I never even had a chance, did I? Can’t really blame you. I mean…those big blue eyes are pretty hard to resist, I bet.”

Dean laughed a little at that.

“You have no idea,” he said.

“So what’s his name?” Carmen asked.

“Castiel,” Dean supplied, “Cas for short.”

“That’s a fairy-tale name if I’ve ever heard one.” She shook her head. “I should be honored that I was the fake girlfriend for five minutes at least, right? Just…promise me something, Dean, okay?”

Dean looked back up at her, opened his mouth, and nodded.

“Promise you’ll tell your dad about him soon,” she said. “It’s not fair to either of you to pretend you’re not head-over-heels for each other.”

“We’re not, we—we just started dating,” Dean stuttered.

“I rest my case,” Carmen said with a conclusive nod of her head. She glanced over to John again, then wrapped her arms around herself and dropped her eyes to the floor. “I had better make this look convincing,” she said with a long-suffering sigh. She looked back up at Dean and when she did there were tears in her eyes. “Don’t ever say I’m bad at acting, okay? And you owe me one, big time.”

“Uh…sure?” Dean agreed, bewildered. What the hell was happening?

Suddenly there was a loud _slap_ and then the side of his face was burning. Dean held a hand to his cheek and stared at Carmen, who was just lowering her hand. Tears were streaming sloppily down her face.

“That’s for lying to me!” she said, sniffing. A nearly imperceivable smirk tugged at one corner of her ruby-red lips. She glanced off into the crowd, where John was staring at them and watching their ‘fight’. Cas was watching too, and Dean swallowed nervously as he caught blue eyes widen in alarm.

Carmen turned back to him to continue the show. Her bottom lip trembled as more tears spilled down her cheeks. Dean just stared at her in shock, barely knowing what was happening let alone what to do about it.

“How _dare_ you!” Carmen wailed at him, “You’re a bastard, Dean! You hear me? It’s _over_ between us!!”

Carmen drew back her hand again and struck him hard across the opposite cheek.

“I never want to see you again!”

With one last fake sob (and a wink), Carmen made a disgusted noise and turned away, shoving off through the crowd. Dean stood frozen, watching her go. She stopped briefly at the entrance to the ballroom and looked back once, then tossed her head like a pro and exited.

Dean saw his father coming toward him and cursed under his breath. He ducked into the crowd and headed in the opposite direction.

A hand suddenly grabbed his arm and he yelped in surprise, spinning around.

A pair of deep blue eyes peered at him in concern. Dean’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Dean?” Castiel said. Dean swallowed the organ back down with difficulty and grimaced. “Dean, what happened? Who was that woman?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer and saw his father moving through the throng of people, much closer now. He cursed again.

“I’ll explain later, Cas, I promise,” he said. His eyes widened as he watched his father approach. “Things are about to get a lot more complicated.”

Before Castiel could ask him what that meant, John Winchester was at his side.

Castiel’s eyes went wide as he figured out what Dean was talking about. John’s attention was solely on his son, however, and missed the panicked look on his face.

“That didn’t look good,” John said. He clasped a hand down on Dean’s shoulder. “I warned you, son.”

What the…? Dean thought, then realized. His dad must be referring to their conversation from the other day.

“Uh…” Dean’s lips wagged as he tried to find his voice. “No, it…it had nothing to do with that,” he managed to say.

Dean rubbed absently at his cheek (it was _still_ burning, damnit) and looked down, at a loss. He’d never ‘broken up’ with someone before, let alone ‘fake broke up’ with a girl.

He said the first thing that came to mind.

“I need a drink.”

John patted his shoulder again and steered him toward the punch bowl. Castiel trailed behind them, listening intently, and Dean couldn’t tell if it was out of concern or because he was curious.

“I’ve been there, son, believe me. Sometimes no matter what you do, women just…” John trailed off. Dean stared at him blankly, wondering where the hell this was going. “Sometimes they just don’t make a lick of sense,” his dad finished.

“Heh, yeah…” Dean replied. He had no idea what his father meant, but that at least he could agree with. Carmen had just done him a huge solid and they were practically strangers. Either she was just that cool of a chick, or she was planning on blackmailing the stuffing out of him. He hoped it was the former.

They stopped at the punch bowl and John scooped out a cup from the ladle, pressing it into Dean’s hand. Castiel grabbed his own drink and looked between them. He seemed unwilling to leave Dean alone with his father and lingered awkwardly.

“Dean, I don’t mean to assume anything…” Castiel said hesitantly. He glanced nervously to John, not quite knowing what to say, then back to Dean. “She seemed very angry. Are you alright?”

“’m fine, Cas,” Dean mumbled. Now was his chance. “Yeah, um… _Carmen_ and I just broke it off.” He saw Cas’s face harden as the lie rolled off his tongue and winced.

“I am…sorry to hear that,” Castiel said carefully. His poker face was up, shielding how he was really feeling. He seemed to be playing along for the moment and placed a consoling hand on Dean’s arm. “I know how much she meant to you. If you need to talk about it, I am here for you.”

It was concealed expertly, but Dean could still detect the subtle edge of anger in Cas’s voice.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, meaning it. Cas was being surprisingly cool about all of this for the moment—any other lover on the planet would be screaming right about now—though Dean was sure he was gonna get it later. Dean sent him a look that he hoped was pathetic and apologetic enough to win back some points for being a complete dick.

“Well, it looks like you’re in good hands,” John said. He patted Castiel on the arm, and Dean gulped down the sudden urge to laugh hysterically at his choice of words. “I’ll leave you to it.”

John gave Cas’s arm another little pat and strode away, heading to the buffet table. Dean let out a sigh of relief as soon as he was gone and turned to Castiel.

“Cas—” Dean started.

“Dean, don’t,” Castiel interrupted. He was clearly angry, but was attempting to rein it in for the time being. “Now is not the appropriate time for an argument,” he added, but the words seemed to be more for his own benefit than for Dean’s.

“Shit…” Dean blurted miserably. He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Tonight’s a fucking disaster.”

“That is an understatement,” Castiel said. This time the sharp edge of bitterness in his voice was clear as day. “Dean, who was that woman?” His brow pitched together, his mouth drawn in a thin line. There was a glint of jealously in his eyes.

“She, uh—that was—she’s nobody,” Dean forced out, “W-we just danced. And okay, we kissed a little, but I swear that was it. That was before we—I mean, that was the night—” He broke off, wishing again he’d never gone out that night.

“That was the day we met,” Castiel finished for him. He nodded as it suddenly dawned on him. “She was the owner of the lipstick.”

“You remember that?” Dean blurted.

“I was jealous,” Castiel confessed.

Dean let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Shit,” he said again, miserably. He hung his head in shame. “I’m a terrible boyfriend.”

Castiel shot him a sidelong look. His lips quirked up into a slight smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yes, I believe you ‘owe me’ for this,” he said. There was a layer of cynicism in his voice. “I will have to think of an appropriate way you can make it up to me.”

Dean gulped. Shit’s creek just got a whole lot deeper.

“We can start with a drink,” Castiel continued diplomatically, “I’m sure you can use another after all that excitement. I know I can.” He looked up at Dean, attempting a smile.

Dean laughed, the nervousness draining away. Whatever Cas was thinking, it seemed he was off the hook at least for now. 

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said, forcing a smile.

Suddenly there was a rubbery Bill Clinton mask between them.

“DON’T FORGET TO VOTE!!” the intruder yelled in a bad politician impersonation. He threw a handful of candy corn at them and then bounded away into the crowd.

Dean frowned and picked one out of his hair.

“I thought they kicked that guy out,” he said.

He watched as his father alerted the two security guards by the door, who then proceeded to chase the guy through the ballroom.

A large shaggy head out of his peripheral grabbed Dean’s attention. His brother was working his way through the crowd, headed their way.

“Crazy party, huh?” Sam said, stopping between them. He glanced from Cas to Dean. “You guys okay?”

“Just peachy,” Dean grumbled, staring into his punch. He straightened as something occurred to him. He glanced at Cas, then back to his brother. “Hey, so Jo couldn’t make it. Something about Halloween being a big bar scene. What’dya say we take the party to her?”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam replied, “I’ll go get Jess.”

“Cas?” Dean said.

Castiel looked up at him and nodded.

“Yes, I think that is a good idea,” he replied.

They said goodbye to their friends and left The Plaza, strolling out into the chilly October night. Halloween was in full swing out on the streets of New York City—kids with buckets filled with candy skipped down the sidewalks cheering, _“Trick or treat!”_ with their parents in silent, exhausted tow. A kid dressed as an astronaut stopped in front of Dean just as they turned the corner.

“Trick or treat,” the kid said up at him.

Dean blinked down at him.

“Seriously, kid? Does it _look_ like I have any candy on me?” Dean said.

The kid just held out his bucket and stared at him expectantly.

“I want candy,” he said.

Sam laughed.

“Come on, Dean, give the kid what he wants.”

“Dude,” Dean said to his brother. He turned back to the astronaut. “Look kid, I don’t even have a breath mint on me, okay? You’re barking up the wrong tree. Now scram.”

The kid looked to Cas, who shook his head, then Sam, who gave the kid an apologetic shrug telling him he was out of luck.

“I think I have something,” Jess said. She dug in her purse and came out with a pack of gum. “Will this do?” she asked.

“Jess, should you really be encouraging the kid like that?” Sam asked her. Jess looked up at him.

“It’s Halloween, Sam,” she said. She turned her attention back to the kid and smiled as she handed over the goods. “Stay safe, okay? And you really shouldn’t talk to strangers. Where’re your parents?”

The kid shrugged.

“I dunno,” he said, “Around.” He dropped the gum into his pail of candy.

Jess’s smile wavered. She looked back to Sam.

“Go ahead without me,” she said, “I’ll catch up.” She turned back to the kid and took his hand in hers. “Come on, Neil Armstrong, let’s go find your mom.”

The kid nodded and went with her. Dean watched him go, then started as the kid turned back and sent him a bone-chilling glower.

“Jeez, what is with kids these days?” he muttered.

Sam just laughed.

“Hey, you guys go on without me,” he said. “Jess isn’t that great navigating the city yet. I’ll meet you there.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, “Later Sammy.”

Sam flashed him a smile and then ran after his girlfriend.

Castiel smiled softly, watching as Sam caught up and took the astronaut’s other hand and leaned down to say something to the kid.

“They make a good couple,” he commented, his voice pitched low.

Dean grinned and nodded in agreement. Then he took Cas’s hand in his and nudged him with his shoulder.

“So do we, right?” he said.

Castiel hesitated, then nodded. He was silent though, and Dean’s smile faltered.

“Cas, the whole thing with Carmen—you know all of that was a sham, right? For my dad’s sake? Hell, she wasn’t even angry at me, she was just pretending.”

Castiel’s eyes shot to Dean, his brow furrowing in alarm.

“All of that was a lie?” he asked.

Dean nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “None of it was real. She was just doing me a solid, getting my dad off my back about us. Hopefully now the awkward questions will end.” He sighed in relief, then tugged at Cas’s hand.

“You ready?”

At Castiel’s hesitant nod, they continued down the street.

The bar where Jo worked was packed to capacity when they arrived, and Dean had to bribe the doorman just to get them in. He got a text from Sam saying him and Jess had decided to call it a night just as the bouncer was letting them through.

Dean spotted Jo manning the bar like a pro, dashing back and forth behind the long counter as she served up drinks to every monster, celebrity, and Halloween classic. She herself was sporting a lavender jumpsuit—the top of which was stripped down and tied around her waist—a black tube top, and yellow work gloves. There was a red bandana around her head and a large wrench on the bar where she was serving drinks.

Dean tried to catch her attention but she was swamped with orders and wasn’t looking up. He elbowed his way through the crowd and picked up the wrench, then knocked her lightly on the head with it.

That got her attention. Jo grinned when she realized who it was and snatched her prop out of his hand.

“Dean, hey,” she said. She gave his costume the once-over. “I’m not even gonna ask,” she commented. She turned to Castiel. “Hey there, Cas. Cute costume!”

“Hello, Jo,” Castiel greeted, “I like your costume. Who are you supposed to be?”

“Sorry, too busy to chat right now boys,” Jo said. She grabbed them a couple drinks from a row of cups behind the bar. “Here, it’s called a ‘Green Scream,’” she explained, “Basically it’s a Midori Daiquiri on steroids. House special, tonight only. Try it—you’ll like it.”

She pressed the drinks into their hands and flashed them a grin, then turned to her next customer.

Castiel took a calculated sip and his face lit up.

“Oh. That’s tasty,” he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow, then tried his. He smacked his mouth together. It was sweet yet tangy and laced heavily with rum and tequila.

“Not bad.”

The song changed overhead and Dean grinned when he realized the tune. He grabbed Castiel’s hand.

“Hey, let’s go do the Monster Mash.”

He led Cas out onto the dance floor, joining the throng of cavorting Halloweeners in their festivities.

After a number of songs and an indeterminate number of drinks later, Dean was just starting to feel at ease. His skin glowed and his smile was loose, and for the first time that night he didn’t feel like the entire room of people was about to eat him alive.

He could relax if it wasn’t for the fact that Castiel had just as much to drink as he did, perhaps more (Dean lost count). The bar’s signature drink was a monster, perhaps the most dangerous in the room, and Castiel was quickly getting swallowed up by it.

Dean grabbed the cup away from him when he started quacking at people.

“Okay, I think it’s time we burn some rubber,” Dean said. He tugged on the man’s sleeve. Castiel looked up at him through bleary eyes and hiccupped.

“Quack,” Castiel said.

Dean sniggered.

“Come on, Ducky, let’s get you home.”

He steered Cas out of the bar and into the chilly October air, looping an arm around him to keep him from stumbling as soon as they cleared the front doors. Dean let out a sigh of relief. He was glad they’d ended the night here. In hindsight, inviting Cas to his family’s party was maybe not his best idea. It had done more harm than good. Castiel was upset with him, and if Dean didn’t know any better (and he did) he’d swear that Cas was covering it up with alcohol.

That alone had Dean breaching through a decision.

Carmen’s words from earlier came back to him full force, echoing like a thunderclap in his head. _It isn’t fair to either of you…_

No, it wasn’t. It really, _really_ wasn’t. He wanted Cas in his life—in _every_ facet of his life. Which meant Dean was going to have to tell his father about them sooner rather than later.

Dean swallowed that thought down and focused instead on his inebriated boyfriend. Castiel was looking around him bleary-eyed, the confused squint making him look downright edible.

“Wha’ppened to the…the…pa…p _uuuuu_ nch?” Castiel asked. He looked around again. “’swas just there a’mint ago…”

“Dude, you are _wasted_ ,” Dean chuckled. Dean pulled him away from the street and turned him so that he was pointed the right direction.

“Am…nnnngg… _not_ ,” Castiel struggled.

“Okay then, hot wings, say the alphabet backwards,” Dean challenged him.

“’S fine,” Cas said. “Can do it. Mmmm….X.”

“X? You sure about that?” Dean laughed.

“Z,” Castiel amended.

“Alright. That’s better,” Dean said with a smirk, “What about the rest of it?”

“Wassa albet am I….there are…Issan do the Greek one. Or….laa-laa.. Latin?”

“Ok well I know neither of those, so let’s just stick with English, yeah?” Dean suggested.

“Right. Wha…hmm. Where w’s I?” Castiel asked. He looked up at Dean and blinked slowly.

“You were at ‘Z’. Helluva start. Stellar,” Dean teased.

“Yes. That. Next’s…..wh….whh….eee…the ‘ee’ one. Which one ‘s that?” Cas struggled.

“Y?” Dean guessed.

“Y-yes…Y. Why…?” Here Cas giggled, swaying into Dean. He pointed a finger in Dean’s face, twirling it around in the air. “ _Wwwhy_ are you s-so… _pppreeety?_ ”

Castiel placed the finger on the tip of Dean’s nose and made a _boop_ noise.

Dean caught it in his hand and threw back his head in laughter. Good Lord. Regardless of how they’d gotten here, Drunk Cas was _fun_.

“Ok, yeah, I take it back. You’re not drunk at all,” Dean said sarcastically. “Christ, tomorrow’s gonna be fun for you. Let’s get you back, huh?”

Dean lifted Cas up around his legs, throwing him over his shoulder. He gave his ass a little slap, drawing a gleeful whoop of laughter out of the man, then started walking back in the direction of his apartment. A stupidly goofy grin stretched across his face. Castiel’s arms hung dead weight over his shoulder, bumping into the backs of his legs as he walked. The man hummed.

“ _Hmmm_ , takin’ care ‘f me…” Castiel murmured, “ _My_ Dean,” he continued, “Nnnnot Carmmnn’ss... _Mmm…miinne._ ”

Dean’s breath hitched a little at that. He forced out a chuckle and patted Castiel on the ass again. It was too tempting not to.

“Yep, that’s me. Carryin’ my little duckling home,” he said.

Castiel fell into silence. A couple minutes later a soft snore issued out from behind him.

Dean shook his head. The man was absolutely _wrecked_. Dean walked them back to Cas’s apartment, ignoring the dozens of stares he received. They must look so idiotic, Dean with a goofy smile plastered across his face, an overgrown duck drooling into his shirt. Either that or they thought he was kidnapping Cas, but since nobody stopped him he supposed they couldn’t have been too concerned. Eh, it was Halloween in the city. This shit was probably expected.

Dean trudged up the stairs to Cas’s apartment with the man still slung over his shoulder. He dug around for his keys and then let himself in, depositing Castiel on the bed. The man was still snoring softly, face flushed and sweaty as he slept. He was _not_ going to have a fun time tomorrow morning.

Dean shifted on his feet, considering his costume for a long moment, then decided it would be best to rid him of the thing. He unzipped the fuzzy onesie and maneuvered Cas out of it. The man’s limbs were dead weight as he did so. He didn’t wake at all, not even when Dean tugged the costume out from under him and pulled the covers up over his chest. He placed a hand on Cas’s cheek and felt the cloying sheen of sweat on his skin, then ran the hand through his hair and leaned down to place a kiss on his brow.

Castiel made a little noise in his sleep. Dean thought he sounded content.

He left a tall glass of cold water and a couple of Advil on the nightstand and then dragged the wastebasket over for good measure before turning off the lights and letting himself out.

“Goodnight, Ducky,” he whispered into the room as he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I swear when I wrote this over a month ago (I've been planning all this for A MONTH! HOLY SHIT!! O.o||) it never even crossed my mind that the election is like..this week. The whole scene with Bill Clinton wasn't meant to be a political statement at all, I literally threw it in cuz I needed some comic relief and thought it would be funny. But uh....if you're in the states, you should listen to him. XD
> 
> Also someone commented at one point about "waiting for the other shoe to drop" (about John finding out about Dean and Cas) and since then I've been... mercilessly dangling the other shoe. And for that I'm sorry. Mwahaha... 
> 
> Guess you all know what to expect next chapter, eh? :3


	14. Trusting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've both got doubts and insecurities, but working them out is what brings them closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning: Soft kink.** Like, I'm not even sure this counts but I'd rather put in a warning than burn anyone's eyes out. XD

* * *

Dean headed back over to Cas’s apartment early the morning with a bag of New York’s best hangover remedy under his arm. He rapped softly on the door and called through it.

“Cas? You awake?”

He pressed his ear to the peeling paint of the door and thought he heard a muffled groan from inside. He shrugged and let himself in.

Castiel was a deformed lump under the bed covers when Dean walked in. He could just barely make out the top of a messy frock of hair and the tips of his fingers around the edges of the blanket. Dean took three steps into the room and peeked under the covers. A green-gilled Castiel squinted up at him, bleary-eyed and face sweating. He looked about as well as Dean had expected.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Dean teased lightly. He kept his voice pitched low, but Castiel still groaned.

“Please, Dean…it’s so bright,” Castiel complained.

Light was streaming in through the window over his bed. Dean suspected he’d spent the better part of the morning trying to work up the courage to pull the shades. Dean did so now, then looked back down at the man peering miserably up at him.

“Better?”

Castiel just grunted and pulled the covers back over his head. A few seconds later there was a muffled “Thank you, Dean,” from under them. Dean smiled. Even massively hung over, Cas still had the propensity to be polite.

“Brought you something,” Dean said. He dropped the white paper bag onto the bed. The smell of grease wafted through its thin shell.

“Ulgh, Dean, the smell. I can’t—”

Castiel broke off and made an unpleasant noise under the covers and then he threw them off and bolted for the toilet. What followed was a truly grotesque display topped off with a cough and a shuddering groan that echoed within the porcelain bowl.

Dean moved the bag to the kitchen counter, then poured a cold glass of water from the filter in the fridge.

Castiel climbed weakly back into bed and then collapsed onto the pillow with another groan.

“Sorry about that,” Dean said. He held the glass of water next to Castiel’s face. “Here, drink this.”

Castiel sat up a little and took a few sips, then grimaced and pushed it away.

“Come on, Cas, a little more,” Dean encouraged, “You’ll thank me later.”

“Dean…”

“It’s going in one way or another, Cas,” Dean warned.

He received a grunt and then Castiel took the glass from him, forcing down a few large gulps.

“Atta boy,” Dean said, grinning at him.

This time he received a scowl for his commentary.

“What time is it?” Castiel asked. He passed the water glass back to Dean, who set it on the nightstand and watched amused as Cas buried himself back under the blankets.

“Almost nine,” Dean told him.

There was a long-suffering sigh from under the covers.

“I am supposed to sing in an hour,” Castiel said. His voice was muffled from the blankets, and Dean could just barely make out what he said.

“No way that’s happening,” Dean said, “You have a number to call? I’ll let Paul know you won’t be making it today.”

Castiel pushed the covers away again and sat up.

“No, I…I’ve never missed a service,” Castiel said. He groaned as another wave of nausea hit and pressed a hand to his forehead.

Dean very gently pushed him back down.

“Like I said.”

He thought Cas was going to argue with him further but all he did was take three deep breaths and then rasp, “It’s in my phone.” He grimaced and swallowed with some difficulty. “I…don’t know where it ended up.”

Dean figured it must be in his costume from the night before and went to check. Sure enough, the phone was in his pocket. He found Paul’s number and hit the call button.

 _“Hello?”_ the reverend answered.

“Reverend Paul? Dean Winchester.”

There was a slight pause and a muffled sound in which Dean assumed Paul was checking his caller ID.

_“Is Castiel..?”_

“He’s fine, just feeling a little under the weather,” Dean told him. He glanced to Cas, who had disappeared back under the covers and assumed a fetal position.

 _“I hope it isn’t serious,”_ Paul said over the line. Dean could practically hear him frowning.

“Nothing a little Alka-Seltzer can’t fix,” Dean said, “But he’s not gonna make it today. Hoping you have someone who can cover for him.”

 _“Yes, we have someone,”_ Paul said. _“Tell Castiel I will see him next week.”_

“I will. And uh…sorry about this,” Dean hesitated before continuing. “It…may have been partly my fault.”

 _“I had hoped you would be a good influence on him, Dean Winchester,”_ the reverend said chidingly.

Dean let out a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah, you and me both. Gonna fix that, promise,” he said. “I’ll see you next week too.”

 _“I will hold you to that,”_ came the reverend’s reply.

Dean grinned, amused, and ended the call.

A pair of bleary blue eyes peered up at him from under the covers when he looked back.

“What was that about?” Castiel asked.

Dean just shrugged and set the phone on the nightstand, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He placed a hand at Castiel’s cheek and then slid it slowly back through his sweat-damp hair. Castiel took a measured breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, closing his eyes with a small noise of discomfort.

“You should eat something,” Dean told him. He pressed the backs of his knuckles to Cas’s face. His skin was damp and sticky with his sweat.

“I would rather die,” Castiel grunted.

“I know,” Dean said, “But it’ll help, I promise.” He left Cas’s side briefly to grab the takeout bag from the counter and then pulled out a monster-sized pork sandwich. He unwrapped it carefully on one side and held it out to him. “One bite, Cas. I believe in you.”

“I will just throw it up again,” Castiel complained.

“Trust me, it’ll help,” Dean said again. He gestured pointedly with the sandwich.

Castiel reached forward and took a halting bite, grimacing as the food hit his tongue. He suffered it down, though, and with a little encouragement Dean got him to eat a few more bites.

There was a little more color to his cheeks when he finally pushed the food away and lay back on the pillow.

“Better?” Dean asked him.

Castiel nodded slightly.

“Yes, you spoke the truth.” He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “I don’t remember drinking that much last night.”

“That’s the danger with rum,” Dean said, an amused lilt to his voice, “It goes down way too easily. I tried to warn you.”

“Yes, I know,” Castiel replied. Another sigh. “It was highly irresponsible of me.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Dean said. He felt a nudge of guilt but shoved it away.

“I don’t remember getting home last night either,” Castiel said. His brow pitched together. “Everything is…fuzzy.”

“I brought you home,” Dean told him. “Made sure you were alright. I see you found the Advil I left you.”

Castiel let out a pitiful sound.

“I threw them up.”

Dean laughed softly.

“Yeah, figures,” he said.

He got up and rummaged in Cas’s cupboard for the bottle, then filled up the water again and returned to the bed. He offered both the painkillers and the glass to Castiel, who took them with a grateful look.

Something must have occurred to him when he lowered the glass from his lips, because his brow suddenly knitted together.

“How did you get in?” he asked.

“Borrowed your keys,” Dean replied with a shrug. “Figured you weren’t going anywhere fast. I hope that’s okay.”

He received a nod in response. Castiel lay back down on the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut with a grimace. He brought a hand up to cover his eyes and groaned.

“I am never drinking again,” he vowed.

Dean laughed.

“Heh, yeah, that’s what they all say,” he replied.

Castiel lowered the hand and peered at him, his blue eyes hazy but soft and filled with affection.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Dean,” he said.

Dean blushed and ducked his head, grin faltering. He felt the guilt nudge up again and once more he shoved it away. He’d get to it. Later—when Cas was feeling better.

“’S no trouble,” he insisted. He ran his hand through Cas’s hair again and then held his cheek. He leaned in to press a kiss at his brow.

Castiel made a soft, content noise and relaxed deeper into the pillow. His breathing slowed, and Dean thought he had fallen asleep when he spoke.

“Dean, about last night…” Castiel said.

“Cas, not now,” Dean said quickly, “It can wait until you’re feeling better.”

“I made a fool of myself,” Castiel continued regardless.

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean insisted, “Really, man. It’s not like I haven’t done it a hundred times myself.”

Castiel made a noncommittal sound and pressed on as though he hadn’t spoken at all.

“I was upset,” he admitted in a low voice.

Dean felt his breath catch in his chest.

“…I know,” Dean said at last. He took a deep breath. “Cas, I’m sorry about what happened last night. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Castiel was silent for a long minute.

“Your father thought you were going out with _Carmen_ ,” Castiel said, frowning. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the throbbing in his head. “Dean, tell me something. If you were seeing someone else…would you be honest with me?”

“What?” Dean blurted. He stared at Castiel for a beat, his mind grinding to a halt. “You’re kidding me, right?” He took a breath and licked his lips, nervously. “You can’t seriously think that I would…you really think I could do something like that to you?”

Castiel’s eyes flickered up to his, then away just as quickly, afraid to keep eye contact.

“I don’t want to believe it,” he said quietly. There was a line of bitterness in his voice when he continued. “But I have been naïve before.” He forced his gaze back to Dean, his blue eyes piercing. His voice when he next spoke was low and edged in anger. “Tell me the truth, Dean. _Were_ you seeing her?”

“What? No!” Dean blurted out.

Castiel frowned at his quick answer.

“And what reason do I have to take you at your word,” he asked, his voice rising in anger, “when you lie so easily?”

Dean was at a loss. His mouth hung open in shock, lips trembling as he tried to say something but failed.

Castiel grunted and looked away again.

“That is what I thought,” he said, clenching his teeth. “You must think I am the biggest fool for thinking—” He broke off and shook his head violently, eyes flashing in anger. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?”

“Cas,” Dean rasped. He sucked in a breath and tried again. “Christ, I am not _cheating_ on you, Cas.”

“No, of course not,” Castiel shot back gruffly, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “You are so adept at lying, I suppose you will also try to convince me that _Carmen_ doesn’t actually exist—that she is a figment of my imagination, just like unicorns and the loch ness monster—”

“Cas, stop it. Please,” Dean pleaded. He grabbed Castiel by the arm to get his attention. “Look at me, Cas—I am telling you the _truth_.” Dean paused, waiting until blue eyes flickered up to meet his. “I wouldn’t lie about this. I only lied to my dad because—because I’m a fucking coward, that’s why. I wish to God I hadn’t.”

“Why should I believe you?” Castiel demanded, his voice a rumbling growl.

“Because I—” Dean said. He swallowed and took another breath as he attempted to explain. “Cas, come on. I know I used to sleep around and chances are I’ll fuck things up for good one of these days...” He trailed off and let go of Castiel’s arm, letting out a humorless chuckle. 

“Shit. Who am I kidding? I’m fucking things up without even trying,” Dean said, defeated. The guilt returned full force, all the times he’d lied to his father and denied who he was—what _they_ were just for the sake of appearances.

Dean turned away and covered his face to hide his shame, leaning out over his knees as he hung his head in his hands. He drew them away a moment later, staring down at them as he dragged in a shaky breath. 

“I mean, I can’t even blame you,” he said, blinking as his eyes began to sting. A fat tear rolled down the tip of his nose, and his voice shook as he spoke through the emotion clawing its way up his throat. “I-if you want to call it a day, Cas, I—I get it.”

“Dean, stop,” Castiel said quickly, placing a hand on his forearm. “That isn’t what I want at all.”

Dean raised his eyes and gazed at him miserably, hands lying open in his lap. He reached for Castiel’s face and cradled it in his palm, thumb stroking over the rough bristles framing his high cheekbones. The eyes staring back at him seemed to be drowning in as much sorrow and regret as his were.

Dean pulled Castiel into a forceful hug, burying his nose in the crook of his neck as he cradled Cas’s head against the side of his face. He tried to hold back the emotion flooding through him but it came out in a sob. “I’m no good at this, Cas,” Dean whimpered against his skin, “You’re better off without me.”

“Dean, please…” Castiel croaked, his own voice breaking. “That isn’t true. You are not—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to think that I wanted to end things between us.”

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Dean insisted, hugging him tighter, “You’ve got to believe me on that, Cas. God, please say you believe me. I could never do that to you.”

“Dean, it is alright,” Castiel said softly, placing a hand at the back of his head, “I believe you.”

Dean let out a shaky laugh, but it was more of a sob than anything resembling humor.

“Good cuz…I’m totally crazy about you, Cas, you know that?”

“Yes, I…I am starting to see that,” Castiel said, sounding relieved. He pulled back from the embrace, eyes flickering up, then back to the covers. His brow pulled together sharply. “To be honest I don’t understand _what_ you see in me,” Castiel admitted softly.

Dean stared at him blankly.

“You’re kidding me, right? Jesus, _Cas_. If anyone should be saying that it’s me,” Dean told him, smiling weakly, “Don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you.”

“I am not that special,” Cas insisted.

“And I’m just some dumb, closeted rich kid who’s spent most of my adult like partying, drinking, and sleeping around,” Dean countered.

“I am serious, Dean,” Castiel argued, “You could have anyone you wanted. I am not a very interesting person.”

“So am I,” Dean said forcefully. He grabbed Cas by the chin and tilted it up so that he was looking at Dean. “God, Cas. I don’t want just anyone. I want _you_. And for the record? You are fucking _awesome_ —and a hell of a lot more interesting than all the rich, spoiled idiots I’ve met over the years.” He attempted a smile, but it ended up feeling rather pathetic on his lips. “Really, I was a lost cause before I met you.”

Cas hesitated, then pulled free from Dean’s grip.

“You are just saying that,” he said, looking away.

“Look at me and tell me I’m lying,” Dean said. He glared at Castiel, who glanced timidly at him, eyes widening as they were trapped by the intensity of Dean’s gaze. “Cas, you’re an amazing person,” Dean said more gently, “I mean it. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

Castiel blinked, tears springing to his eyes, then took a shuddering breath and spoke in barely over a whisper.

“Then you do not…” he started to say.

“Not a snowball’s chance,” Dean said emphatically.

Castiel frowned. He seemed annoyed at the interruption and started again.

“You do not wish for one minute that you had someone like… _Carmen_?” he asked.

“What? No!” Dean said, shaking his head. “No way. Where’s this—? Why, cuz you’re a guy? ‘Cause it would be easier, or more _convenient_? You really think I give a shit about that?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted. He stared down between them and rubbed his forehead, wincing in pain. “I am hung over and my head is killing me and…you lied to your father about us and then _Carmen_ showed up…”

Castiel trailed off and dropped his hand away with a sigh, eyes glued to the bed sheets.

“I don’t know why you are with me,” he said quietly, “When you could just as easily choose…” He trailed off, but the implication was clear.

“Cas, I don’t wish that for a second,” Dean said when he didn’t continue. He swallowing hard against the lump lodged in his throat, then brought a hand to Castiel’s cheek again. “I want _you_ , Cas,” Dean said gently, “for _exactly_ who you are.” He rested his forehead against Castiel’s and smiled weakly. “No one rings my bells like you do, Ducky.”

Castiel nodded a little and blinked furiously. He took a shuddering breath and blinked some more, fat tears dropping from his lashes and falling to the blankets between them. Then he slid his arms around Dean and pressed his face into his chest and snuffled.

“’M sorry,” he croaked.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean said gently, hand at the back of his head hugging Cas to his chest, “I’m sorry too. And I’m gonna make it up to you, I promise.” He pulled back and gave Castiel another weak smile. “Starting with the whole French Maid thing,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Castiel’s eyes widened at that comment.

“Dean, you don’t have to,” he said quickly, “I was—I was joking last night.”

“I want to,” Dean insisted. He bit his lip, struggling to keep eye contact and felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He failed, his eyes darting away. “Would it weird you out if I said I was…uh…looking forward to it?”

Castiel sucked in a breath and shook his head. When Dean chanced another look there was a flush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the leftover effects of the alcohol slowly burning through his system. He swallowed audibly.

_Shit_. Were they both really this excited about him dressing up in satin and lace?

“S-ss-so Sammy called earlier,” Dean said, abruptly changing the subject. “He wants to do dinner later. Think you’re up for it?”

Castiel nodded.

“Yes, I am feeling a lot better,” he said quietly.

Dean frowned slightly but didn’t comment. He had a feeling Castiel’s upset stomach had less to do with alcohol poisoning and more to do with worrying about him and Carmen. _Shit_. Dean _really_ owed him for that whole misunderstanding.

“Awesome,” he said nonetheless, shoving the guilt back down. He stroked the side of Cas’s face with his thumb. Despite what Cas had said, he still felt unwelcome and rather like a dog in a doghouse. He dropped his hand and looked away. “I’ll let you get some rest. I just came by to make sure you were okay.”

He started to get up from the bed but Castiel grabbed his arm.

“Dean,” he said, his voice pitched higher than usual, “Will you stay with me a little longer?”

Dean sat back on the bed and smiled weakly at him.

“Long as you want,” he answered.

He kicked off his shoes and slid under the covers Castiel held open for him, wrapping himself around Castiel’s warmth. Castiel looked at him silently, adoration filling the deep blue of his irises. Dean leaned in for a kiss, then pulled away and grimaced at the sour taste on his tongue.

“Oh, okay. _Yuck_. Maybe not such a good idea in hindsight,” he said.

Castiel made an amused sound and watched as he wiped his tongue on the sleeve of his shirt. Dean resolved to hold Cas’s face in his palm instead. He gently stroked his cheek with his thumb, staring into soft, sky-blue eyes. They fluttered shut with a sigh.

“Cas?” Dean asked after a few minutes. Castiel made a small, _“Hmm?”_ noise so he continued. “Are we good?”

His voice was soft, worried. Castiel’s eyes flickered open at once, searching Dean’s own. His hand came up to rest against the side of Dean’s face, their arms crossing.

“You mean, do I forgive you?” Castiel clarified. At Dean’s timid nod, he continued. “Yes, Dean. We are good.” He snuggled closer, wrapping his arm around Dean’s back and murmured, “I am sorry I jumped to the conclusion that I did. I fear I hurt you more than I was upset myself. I will not make that mistake again.”

Dean made a weak sound and hugged him back.

“Good,” he rasped, the relief heavy in his voice.

Minutes later Castiel’s breathing slowed and his body relaxed further against Dean as he drifted off into a hazy, post-hangover slumber.

Dean held him as he slept, listening to the sounds of the city outside and the quiet _drip, drip_ of his kitchen faucet. He made a mental note to bring a toolbox over the next time he was here so he could fix it, then spent the remainder of the morning thinking about how much he’d screwed up and what he could do to make up for it.

He had to tell his dad. It was the only way to prove to Cas that Dean really cared about him but Dean was frankly terrified of coming out to his father. He took a deep breath, careful not to jostle the man in his arms and wake him up. He’d be risking a lot by telling his dad. For one, his loft was in the company’s name, and with one stray signature his father could choose to cut him off and throw him out on the streets, or worse still—demand that Dean break things off with Cas in order to keep his position in the company. But, Dean thought, none of that mattered without Castiel there to share it with him. The entire reason he was working at his father’s company was so that he had an excuse to stay in the city. Hell, if his dad cut him loose it would only make him that much more determined to stay.

The God’s-honest truth was that he was risking a lot more by lying to his father, if last night and this morning was any indication. But would Cas want him without all of the money and prestige? Dean was pretty sure it was the only thing he had going for him at this point, and if things with his father didn’t go well it might just break them. He already felt like he was holding on by a thread, trying to be responsible, trying to be someone he could be proud of—someone worthy of being with Cas. The truth was Dean didn’t trust himself enough to hold it together if he lost everything. That was the part that scared him the most.

He really wasn’t the praying type, but in this case…

Dean closed his eyes and sent a brief thought up to heaven.

_Look out for us, Mom._

* * *

By the time dinner rolled around, Castiel was feeling a lot better. Dean left halfway through the morning so that he could run a couple errands, and then had to rush back to his apartment to shower and change for dinner. Sammy texted him the details of the restaurant (Dean let him and Jess choose, since his idea of a _good_ restaurant was based on whether or not the place had burgers and pie) and then headed back over to Cas’s apartment to pick him up.

The bag he carried up the four flights of stairs bounced lightly against his leg, its contents rustling softly as it did. The toolbox in his other hand jangled in harmony with it.

Cas opened the door when he knocked, wearing a black suit and white shirt paired with a tie that matched the color of his eyes.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, look at you,” Dean said in greeting, letting out a low whistle, “You clean up nice.” He leaned down for a long, thorough kiss to make up for the serious lack of them that morning.

With an arm looped behind Castiel’s back, Dean pulled the man into him and enveloped his mouth in a sensual dance of lips and tongue. Castiel made a noise—half-groan, half-whimper—and gripped him by the sleeves of his blazer, pressing his front to Dean’s and yielding his mouth open. Dean caught his bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled on it gently, then tugged it out and let it go to lick into his mouth. Castiel sighed into him and allowed his head to fall back as Dean kissed down his neck.

When he pulled back Castiel’s breathing was irregular and his pupils dilated to the point where they nearly swallowed up the deep blue of his irises. He looked so completely unhinged that Dean just had to lean in and kiss him again.

The second time he pulled back, Dean hummed and grinned lazily at Castiel.

“I’d love to continue this, Ducky, but we’re going to be late,” he said. His grin stretched wider. “Rain check?”

Castiel huffed in laughter at the poor excuse of a joke and nodded.

“Yes, we—we shouldn’t keep your brother and Jess waiting,” he breathed.

It may have been Dean’s wishful thinking, but he swore Castiel sounded disappointed. Cas shrugged into his tan overcoat, watching as Dean set the bag and the toolbox in his hand down next to the door.

“What is that for?” he asked curiously, fixing the collar of his jacket.

Dean grinned at him mischievously.

“The tools are to fix your sink,” Dean told him. “The other one is a surprise.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “For later.”

Castiel blushed a little at that and nearly dropped his keys.

“I am—ahh…ready whenever you are,” he said, stumbling over the words. He stepped toward the door.

“Hang on,” Dean said, motioning with his hand. Castiel stopped and tilted his head, looking at Dean questioningly. Dean said nothing, just stepped up to him and took his tie in hand, fixing it so that it was centered correctly.

“There you go,” Dean said with a grin. His fingers played with the collar to Castiel’s shirt, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the skin of his neck. “Now you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said softly, looking up at him.

Unable to resist, Dean wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s tie and pulled him in for a kiss. It felt strangely domestic as his lips moved leisurely against those of the man pressed up against him, but it tasted undeniably sweet.

* * *

They were a little late to dinner, but not enough where it warranted an excuse. The restaurant Sam and Jess had chosen was downtown in Hudson Yard, miles from the hotel but renowned enough where it was worth the lengthy excursion. Light jazz music played over the speakers as he and Cas entered. The hostess led them into the restaurant’s front room, where a fan-shaped ceiling opened up into the half-circle of the room. Sam and Jess were seated by the far end of the wall-length windows, a bottle of wine already open and poured out between them. Sam raised his hand in greeting as they arrived.

“’Bout time you showed up,” Sammy said, “What, did you get lost?”

“It’s called being fashionably late,” Dean told him with a smirk, “Hey Jess.”

He gathered Sam’s girlfriend into a hug, then clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Waitin’ on you now, little brother,” Dean said cheekily, sitting down and smoothing his tie.

Sam rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner, then turned his attention to Castiel.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted with a wide smile. “Nice suit.”

“Ah…thank you,” Castiel replied. “Hello Jess.”

“Hi…Cas, was it?” At Castiel’s nod, Jessica smiled and stuck out her hand. “We didn’t really get a chance to meet properly last night. Sam’s been saying nothing but nice things.”

“Yes, Dean speaks highly of you as well,” Castiel replied, taking her hand.

“Well? We gonna stand around all day grinning like morons, or are we gonna eat?” Dean said.

They took their seats and Castiel picked up his menu, eyes glancing over the page. The waiter came by and asked if he would like some wine, to which he politely declined.

“Still a little hung over?” Sam asked knowingly.

Castiel nodded and looked a little uncomfortable.

“Yes, ah…I’m afraid I learned my lesson last night,” he said. He glanced sideways at Dean, his blue eyes soft. “I learned a couple of lessons last night,” he amended.

Dean dipped his head and grimaced.

“Yeah, so did I,” he muttered, staring at his menu. He cleared his throat and looked up. “So? Everyone know what they want?” he asked, effectively changing the subject.

Castiel looked back to his menu and blinked rapidly. His face puckered like he’d just bit into a lemon.

“We’re ready,” Sam replied, glancing at Jess. “Jess wanted lobster. That’s the whole reason we’re here.”

Jessica leaned in from across the table.

“It’s supposed to be _really_ good,” she said enthusiastically, “And it’s my first time on the east coast so I kind of _have_ to try it.”

Dean laughed and nodded.

“Cool. I’m more of a steak guy myself,” he replied. He turned to Castiel. “Cas? Know what you want?” Dean asked him.

Castiel looked up abruptly, seeming caught out by the question, then back down to the page in his hand.

“Ah, n-no. Not yet.” He snapped the menu shut and set it down on the table. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

He got up from the table quickly, ignoring the concerned look Dean threw his way. Dean traded glances with Sam from across the table.

“What the hell was that all about?” Dean wondered aloud.

Jess’s brow pinched together in concern.

“Um…I’m just throwing this out there because I can relate but…don’t you think he might be freaking out a little about the menu prices?” she said.

Dean stared at her blankly.

“Seriously?” he blurted, face aghast. He turned to Sam. “You think that’s it? I mean…I never even thought…”

Sam placed his napkin on the table and rose to his feet.

“I’ll go check on him,” he said.

Castiel was standing at the sink when Sam walked in, hands gripping the counter. He seemed rather upset, if Sam was any judge, and glanced up in alarm when he realized it was Sam who had entered.

“Cas?” Sam asked, “You okay?”

“Sam. I am fine. I will just be a minute,” Castiel said. He turned on the water and began washing his hands, as though that was what he had intended to do all along.

“Hey,” Sam said, stepping into the small room and letting the door swing closed behind him, “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is, I promise not to tell Dean.”

Castiel stopped washing and sighed, letting his shoulders droop.

“To be honest I am feeling…a little overwhelmed,” Cas admitted, looking down at the counter. He pressed his lips together, frowning slightly. “This place, it…it is the most extravagant restaurant I have ever been to.”

Sam nodded and leaned up against the counter beside him.

“Yeah, Jess mentioned it might be something like that,” he said, “You know Dean doesn’t think about that kind of stuff, right? All this is just…normal to us. You know?”

“Yes, I realize that,” Castiel said. “Believe it or not, I _do_ understand. I have been around the rich and powerful for a number of years. I simply…never expected…” He swallowed. His eyes flickered up to Sam’s briefly. “Did Dean tell you…my history?” he asked hesitantly.

Sam shook his head, his face drawn into a deep frown.

“No,” he said, “What about it?”

“I used to be homeless,” Castiel explained, “There were days I barely had a dollar to spend on food and…here the price of a meal is more than I make in a day. It is…disconcerting.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Sam replied.

Castiel shook out his hands and grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser to dry them, avoiding eye contact. He hesitated before speaking again.

“I asked Dean today what he saw in me.”

The words were soft, barely over a whisper. Sam almost didn’t catch them, and it took him a few seconds to figure out what Cas had said.

“And? What’d he say?” Sam asked.

“He…didn’t really give me an answer,” Castiel replied. He sighed. “Well…he did, but…not one that makes much sense to me.”

Sam made a “Hmph,” sound and crossed his arms, shifting his weight against the counter as he thought about that.

“You ever think he doesn’t need a reason?” Sam asked him, “He likes you, Cas. A lot. Like, a stupid amount from everything he’s told me. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“Perhaps…” Castiel went quiet, brow pulled together in worry. “Last night I was convinced he was cheating on me. I don’t think that anymore, however…” He paused, his voice dropping further. A line of regret crept into the next thing he said. “I worry that I…do not have much to offer in this relationship.”

Sam stared at him, stunned. Then he shook himself and let out a small laugh.

“No offense, but…you’re wrong, man. Look, Cas—I won’t lie to you. I don’t know you well enough to get what my brother sees in you,” Sam said, “But the Dean at the table here tonight? Man, I barely even _recognize_ him. He’s like a completely new person…and he’s _happy_ , Cas.” Sam paused and drew a breath. “That’s all you, man.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed deeper.

“That may be true,” Castiel said, “But…will it be enough?” He looked up, staring Sam in the eyes for the first time since they started talking. “A month from now…a year—however long this lasts. I don’t know. Will it be enough for him?”

Sam stared at him, lost for words.

“I don’t know, man,” he replied honestly, “Nobody does. But I _can_ tell you this. My brother wouldn’t change this much for just anyone. The way he’s been acting since he told me about you? It’s like…” Sam trailed off and licked his lips, then started again. “Maybe I’m wrong here, but it’s like he’s planning years down the road. So I think…and this is just my gut feeling, but…I think the answer to your question is leaning toward… _yes_.”

Castiel looked down again and smiled softly. His cheeks felt warm at Sam’s words. In fact, his entire body did. Especially the space in the middle of his chest.

“Thank you, Sam,” he said quietly. When he looked up again, he seemed a lot better.

“Hey, anytime,” Sam replied with a grin. “So? You ready to head back?”

Castiel nodded.

“Yes, I am feeling a lot better now.”

When they got back to the table, Dean looked up from his conversation with Jess. The look on his face was one of deep concern, and his brow knitted together to reflect just how much. Castiel touched him lightly on the shoulder to let him know he was alright and sat down.

“Cas?” Dean asked anyway, licking his lips, “You okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered him. He offered Dean a small smile. “I ah…I am ready to order whenever everyone else is.”

The true meaning of his response was clear. Dean glanced to his brother, who nodded nearly imperceptivity at him. Castiel missed it—he was busy looking over the menu.

Dinner progressed in higher spirits after that. The food was delicious, and everyone seemed happy with their meals. Jess got the lobster like she wanted, and Cas had followed in her footsteps, allowing himself this small slice of decadence. Dean stole a bite and had to admit it was good, but he still preferred his choice. The steak he ordered was the fuckin’ _bomb_.

Conversation flitted between the mundane and talk of Dean and Sam’s childhood, as well as sharing stories on how everyone met.

“You should tell Cas about your first date with Jess,” Dean said to his brother in the middle of a bite. He turned to Castiel and grinned. “It’s a classic.”

“You mean it was a _disaster_ ,” Sam amended, shaking his head, “I can’t believe I got a second date after that whole mess.”

He looked at Jess, who laughed and looked at him affectionately. She covered his hand on the table and gave it a little squeeze.

“I’m sure it is not as bad as you make it sound,” Castiel said.

“Don’t bet on it…” Sam mumbled.

“He took me to a fancy restaurant,” Jess supplied, smiling brightly in amusement, “The entire menu was in French. He couldn’t understand a thing but he pretended he did.”

Sam snorted.

“Yeah, not one of my best moments,” he said. “I wanted to impress her, so I ordered for us…picked something at random and just…hoped for the best.” He shrugged.

Jess leaned in from across the table and made a face.

“It was called _Ris de Veau_. I’ll never forget it. Absolutely the worst thing I ever ate in my life. I thought it was some kind of expensive French Cuisine that I didn’t know about so I pretended to like it...”

“Well, you wouldn’t be wrong,” Castiel interjected with an amused chuckle.

“Finally I asked the waiter what it was…” Sam continued.

“It turned out to be _veal pancreas_ ,” Jess revealed, “Sam turned green…I thought for sure he was going to lose it right there at the table.”

“We ended up at a Biggerson’s,” Sam finished with a tight smile.

Dean let out a loud laugh and leaned back in his chair.

“Oh, _man_. Fuckin’ _classic_ ,” Dean chuckled.

There was a chorus of laughter from around the table.

“So Cas, you speak French?” Sam asked once the hilarity died down.

“Yes, that’s right,” Castiel answered. “Actually, I speak a total of five languages, not counting English.” He listed them off on his fingers. “Spanish, French, Italian, Russian, and German.”

“Wait. What?” Dean blurted, turning to him in shock. “How did I not know this about you?”

“You never asked,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean made a face that said _‘good point,’_ then pinched his brow together as something occurred to him.

“Is that an opera thing?” he asked, shoveling in another bite.

Castiel nodded.

“I learned Spanish in school. The others I taught myself,” he explained, “I wanted to be able to understand what they were saying.”

“Dude, you work two jobs _and_ you volunteer on your day off. How the hell did you find the time to do all of that?” Dean asked him.

“I have an eidetic memory,” Castiel explained.

“ _Dude_ ,” Dean said emphatically.

Sam whistled, impressed.

“Watch out, Dean,” Jess said, grinning. “That could come back to bite you.”

“Huh. Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean said, making a face. It already _had._

“So, Cas,” Sam said, changing the subject, “You’re into opera?”

Castiel nodded.

“Yes. I discovered it in high school,” he replied. “There was a drama club. I…had always sung for our local congregation but I had never been exposed to the performing arts before. I instantly liked it.”

“Cas here wants to be an opera singer,” Dean supplied, grinning at the man. “What’dya think guys? I think he should go for it.”

“It is not an easy career to succeed at,” Castiel insisted, “For one, there is an excessive amount of travelling involved. It is an expensive lifestyle. The pay is terrible, and if you hit one wrong note—just one—they will never let it go.” Castiel shook his head. “No, I am better off going to school for psychotherapy.”

“Well, long as you’re happy, I guess,” Sam said with a shrug.

Dean was frowning, but didn’t say anything further. He wanted to tell Cas that none of that mattered, but knew Castiel wouldn’t agree with him.

Before they knew it, dinner was over and it was time for Sam and Jess to head over to the airport to catch their flight back to Stanford. Dean drew his brother into a tight embrace, clapping him on the back. His voice when he spoke was thick with emotion.

“You take care of yourself, you hear?” Dean told him.

“Yeah, man, you too,” Sam replied. He offered his brother a smile and turned to Cas just as Dean said his goodbyes to Jess. “Cas. It was great meeting you, man.”

He pulled Castiel into a hug, surprising the man with the show of affection.

“Ah…you as well, Sam,” Castiel replied, hugging him awkwardly. He seemed relieved when Sam let him go. “And…thank you again for…earlier.”

“Hey, anytime,” Sam told him. “You have my number now. And Jess’s. Anytime you need to chat, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said again, “And…you as well.”

“Ready to head out there, Ducky?” Dean asked him, looping an arm around his waist.

Sam blinked at the nickname and stuttered, “D-ducky?”

“Ah…yes. Dean seems to enjoy calling me that,” Castiel explained, blushing lightly.

Dean just grinned at him.

“Huh,” Sam said, blinking. He shook himself out of his shock. “Sorry, just…never took you for someone who’d be into that kind of thing,” he told his brother.

“What can I say? I’m a changed man,” Dean said.

“No kidding,” Sam said with a grin. He looked to Castiel, who was still blushing, and winked. “Well, this has been fun,” Sam was saying in the next moment, “But we really need to get going. Don’t want to miss our flight.”

“Yeah, we’ve got uh…plans of our own so…” Dean said.

“ _Plans_ , huh?” Jess echoed with a knowing smile. There was a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“I have not been made aware of these _plans_ ,” Castiel said, turning to Dean.

Dean flushed red and floundered for a second.

“Y’know, the—uh, t-the _bet_ we had?” he said.

“Ah,” Castiel replied with a crooked grin, “ _Those_ plans.”

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Sam said loudly before that line of conversation could continue. “See you at Thanksgiving, Dean.”

“Bye Sammy, bye Jess,” Dean replied.

“Bye guys,” Jess said.

“Goodbye, both of you. Take care,” Castiel replied.

Sam held up his hand in a gesture of final farewell and placed a hand at Jess’s back, guiding her into the cab waiting for them. Dean and Cas waved as the car pulled off the curb, then climbed in to one themselves.

* * *

They arrived back at Castiel’s apartment after a leisurely ride together, the anticipation growing in the air until it was so thick one could cut it with a knife. Dean trudged up the stairs wondering if Cas could feel it too, or if it was just him. The man seemed completely unaffected as he calmly unlocked his front door. Dean followed him in, finding all of his previous excitement had suddenly turned sour. The door to Castiel’s apartment closed behind him, the sound causing Dean to jump slightly in his skin.

“Would you like something to drink?” Castiel asked him, moving for the fridge.

“Naw, I’m good,” Dean replied. He grabbed the shopping bag he had brought with him earlier from the floor and fiddled with it, holding it protectively in front of him as he looked down at its contents. He took a nervous breath in. “So uh…how do you want to do this?” he asked awkwardly.

“I…don’t understand the question,” Castiel said, squinting at him.

Dean immediately regretted turning down that drink. He could use a couple shots to loosen him up, to be honest. He hadn’t had nearly enough wine at dinner to be doing this.

“Uh…I mean, do you have any…uh…requests?” Dean licked his lips. “Like—like anything you want me to do once I put this thing on?”

“Oh.” Castiel paused, thinking about it as he grabbed a glass of water from the filter in the fridge. “Ah…t-there is one thing I would like to try…” He trailed off and looked down into his water glass. “That I…have not done yet.”

Dean perked up at that, instantly curious.

“Yeah? You wanna clue me in?” he asked.

Castiel’s eyes flitted up to his for just a second.

“I would like to try…stimulating you orally,” he said.

Dean laughed at the overtly clinical manner with which he said it.

“Heh, yeah, okay,” he replied, “You can do that.”

Dean shifted on his feet, looking down at the bag in his hands again. He licked his lips.

“Uh…Cas?” he asked nervously.

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean nibbled on his bottom lip, wondering how in hell to say what he was feeling.

“You know I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, right?” Dean told him. “I mean—this is the first time I’ve…done something like this.”

“Dean…” Cas said, peering at him curiously, “If you referring to your past relations, that doesn’t bother me. I may have been jealous of Carmen, but I can’t exactly fault you for anything that happened before we met.”

“No, that’s not—” Dean growled low in his throat, frustrated with his own insecurities. “Never mind. Just, uh… close your eyes, okay?” He forced out a weak smile. “Don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Castiel did as he asked, closing his eyes as Dean stripped off the clothes he’d worn to dinner and slipped the thin maid’s costume over his broad frame. He’d gotten the largest available size, but it was still a little tight in the chest and shoulders—it was very obviously not made for someone of his physique, and Dean pulled at the front of the outfit in increasing self-consciousness.

Part of him wanted to call the whole thing off, but then Castiel spoke.

“Dean. May I open my eyes?” he asked.

“Uh…” Dean gulped and felt his mouth go dry. “Uh y-yeah, go ahead,” he stuttered.

Castiel’s eyes opened. Dean immediately felt the blood rush to his face. He felt naked—though that was inaccurate, because standing stark nude in a room full of strangers would be infinitely easier than… _this_.

Castiel’s mouth dropped open, eyes widening as they slid over the delicate black satin dress and the white apron pinned over it. They flickered up to the thin band of white lace tied around Dean’s neck, dropping lower to the bodice stretched across his wide, muscular chest, then back down the length of the dress where they lingered at the black satin hem of the skirt and white petticoat poking out from underneath it. There was a matching black and white lace garter tied around his left thigh that was just barely visible under the edge of the skirt.

Dean swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Shit. I look—I look stupid,” Dean said, peering down at the French maid outfit. “It’s—I got the bow-legs and…and my legs are all hairy, and I’m too muscular for the—the shape of the—I mean, it’s…it’s just…n-not feminine at all,” he finished in a rush.

Castiel set down his water glass and pushed off the counter where he was leaning, stepping closer to Dean. His voice when he next spoke was low.

“Forget all of that,” Castiel said firmly, “Dean, how do you _feel_?”

“How do I—? Shit. I feel—I f-f-feel…” Dean covered his face with his hands. “…prmmttggg.”

“What?”

Dean ripped his hands away from his face, cheeks burning red-hot.

“I ff-feel pretty!” he blurted, blushing deep red.

Castiel smiled and reached up to cradle Dean’s face in his hands. He pressed a slow kiss at Dean’s lips. When he pulled back he rested his forehead against Dean’s.

“Dean, we’re queer. That means throwing out the rulebook on gender roles,” Castiel told him gently.

“I know that!” Dean snapped at him, “I just—I’m used to…t-to pretending…I’ve never let myself just…unwind like this, you know?”

“You have never cross-dressed before?” Castiel asked, looking for clarification.

“Well, yeah, but only—only when no one was looking. And…I never really let myself relax, you know?” Dean explained. He licked his lips. “Like—like I used to try on my mom’s dresses as a kid when she wasn’t looking, but…but I would put ‘em on and then immediately take ‘em off. And it was always in her…uh…closet.” He blushed deeply at the implication of that admission and continued. “I just…never felt comfortable exploring this part of me,” he confessed, “I always felt weird about it. It always felt…wrong somehow, even though I know it _shouldn’t_. It still does. Even if I—” Here Dean broke off and looked down between them, lips trembling. “Even if I secretly like it,” he finished in a whisper.

Castiel hummed, pleased.

“And how do you feel now?” Castiel asked him.

“I dunno,” Dean replied. He spread out the edge of his skirt in evaluation, sucking in a deep breath and repeated his previous words. “I dunno. But—maybe it’s…better? Easier this time.” He gulped and raised his eyes to look at Castiel. They were drowning in his unresolved insecurities.

Castiel ran his fingers down Dean’s cheek.

“The first step is acknowledging you like it,” he said, “And then accepting it. It helps if the person you are with is open to it. And I must say…” Here Castiel looked down, sweeping his eyes over the bodice of black satin and white lace that hung low across Dean’s neckline, to the edge of the skirt and where Dean’s bare legs stuck out from underneath the frilly petticoat layered underneath it. When he raised them again, there was a light blush to his eyes. “It is…ah, very…” He trailed off and blushed deeper.

Dean felt like his whole face might light on fire.

“Shit. I knew it. Looks stupid,” he blurted, “I’ll take it off.”

He started to turn away.

“ _Dean,_ ” Castiel said emphatically, stopping him, “It looks about the furthest away from stupid. It looks…attractive. Hot. So much so I, ah…”

Again he trailed off, but instead of offering more words this time, he grabbed Dean’s hand and pressed it to the front of his pants.

Dean blinked and jerked his hand away as though he’d been burned.

“You’re—”

Cas grabbed the hand back and returned it to the space between his legs. This time it stayed put. Dean’s eyes slowly widened.

“Yes. Very much so,” Castiel replied. His eyes fluttered closed for a brief second as he pressed closer to Dean, leaning against his chest. “It suits you,” he said softly, “Everything you were saying about not looking feminine? I disagree. I see…softness. Beauty. The outfit it is…demure. Flattering. And above all…” Here Cas’s lips tugged up into a very Dean-like smile. “Sexy as hell.”

“W-ww—really?” Dean stuttered. At Castiel’s nod, he looked down, blushing harder, if that were at all possible. “Shit. _Shit_. You—” He broke off, cheeks burning like a California wildfire. “I— _fuck_. Nope, no words,” he said, shaking his head furiously. He looked back up at Cas and smiled weakly. “None at all. I’m…I’m fuckin’ done here, man. You…you rock my world, Cas, you know that?”

Castiel let out a pleased _“Hmmm_ ,” and leaned in closer.

“You are also…ah, _rocking_ me,” he replied awkwardly.

Dean laughed at that and ran his palm up the front of Castiel’s pants.

“Gonna rock you all _night_ ,” Dean flirted shamelessly. He brought his mouth in close to Cas’s and breathed hot against his face, teasing him with the perfect sculpture of his lips.

“ _Nnnggh, Dean_ ,” Castiel moaned. His hands flew up to grip Dean by the hips. The black satin was silky soft and rumpled under his fingers.

“Bed,” Dean croaked, pulling at the hands holding him. Castiel nodded, his eyes hooded in desire. He pushed at Dean’s hips, leading him toward their destination.

Dean turned them and pushed lightly. Castiel fell to the edge of the bed, hands flying to Dean’s thighs. He ran them up under the skirt and felt Dean shiver as his thumbs brushed the sensitive skin over his hip bones. He lowered himself down, straddling Cas on the edge of the bed, the skirt flowing out over his thighs, and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips.

Both hands in Castiel’s hair, Dean’s hips ground against his front, dragging his hardness against that still trapped within Cas’s pants.

Castiel gasped and moaned, fingertips digging into his sides, hips bucking forward in response. Dean moved back to unbutton his shirt and slip it over his shoulders. He left the tie hanging around his neck, then grabbed it just below its knot and lowered his mouth to Castiel’s lips.

Castiel pressed against Dean, chest arcing to meet his. Then he reached forward to place a kiss at the base of Dean’s neck.

“Dean, show me how to pleasure you,” Castiel murmured in a low gravel against his skin.

Dean laughed, breathy, and moaned softly.

“D-doing just fine there, Ducky,” he said in a shuddering breath.

Castiel’s fingers found Dean’s nipples through the thin fabric and thumbed them hard.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was raspy, pleading. He wanted something, but he was afraid to ask for it.

Castiel hummed and sucked at his neck.

“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Your tie,” Dean said. “Uh…”

“You want me to tie you up?” Castiel surmised.

“No. Uh…b-blindfold me?” Dean requested shyly.

Castiel pulled back, peering at him with intense blue eyes that seemed to go right through him. Then he slowly loosened the knot around his neck, drawing the fabric taught between his hands. Dean trembled as Cas reached forward to cover Dean’s eyes with the silky blue fabric. Dean let out a harsh breath as he felt Castiel carefully loop it twice around his head and then knot it in the back.

He jumped a little as Castiel’s hands came to rest on his hips, and his breath caught in his chest. A wave of desire hit him, making him instantly hard.

“Dean…” Castiel’s voice reverberated through him like grains of sand falling through a sieve. “What is it about this that excites you so much?” His voice was seductive, but also held a line of genuine curiosity.

“I—I dunno,” Dean replied. He licked his lips, nervous. “It just does.”

Castiel hummed low in his chest and drew his hands up Dean’s sides, causing a shiver to race up his spine.

“I have a theory,” Castiel said.

His hands left Dean’s sides. Dean turned his head, unable to sense where he was. Then he gasped as a mouth latched on to his neck and a hand cradled the side of his face.

“Would you like to hear it?”

“Y-yeah, sure,” Dean said breathlessly. Another low hum from Cas, and his lips moved across Dean’s jawline to his ear.

“It has to do with surrender,” Castiel said in a low voice, “And trust. Vulnerability. All the things we are told it is wrong for men to feel. And yet these are the feelings we most crave to set free.”

Rough hands were suddenly gripping his sides again, guiding him to lie back on the bed. They slid across his stomach, over his hips and down his thighs. Then they carefully ruffled his skirt up around his navel. A hand grasped him between the legs and stroked up, causing Dean to arch off of the small bed with a moan. A thumb flicked over the top of his head, and then a tongue brushed against his tip, circling around it. A pair of lips soon followed, teasing him first with just a short dip over his head, then a slow lick up his shaft. Dean cried out and trembled, his inability to see heightening the sensations flooding through him.

The lips moved away and Dean was left guessing, following the sound of Castiel’s breathing and the warmth of his skin. He was suddenly cold, the chill in the small room creeping over his bared extremities as Cas left him momentarily.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean whined, sucking in a breath as he felt his balls shrink up in the cold.

There was the rustle of a bag and then Castiel was there again, warm hand pressing onto the top of his thigh.

A light touch of something trailed down the front of his dress. When it reached his skin, it tickled, and Dean squirmed under its touch.

“Cas, what—” he breathed, then felt the thing brush down the length of his cock. It felt…feathery soft, and in an instant Dean realized what it was.

“Dean,” Castiel said lightly, dragging the item in question back up the length of him, “Would you mind if I got…creative?”

Dean felt a harsh moan escape his lips in a rush of air.

“Cas, I— _uuunnnng_ —w-whatever you’re gonna do, just do it already,” Dean begged.

Dean heard the sound of the lube bottle snapping open and waited for the feeling of oil over his skin—something, but there was nothing.

“ _Caaas,_ ” he whined, squirming on the bed.

“Yes, give me a second, _Huggy Bear_ ,” Castiel said, sounding amused. His voice dropped to a more serious tone. “Dean, you must let me know if this is uncomfortable in any way,” Castiel said.

“Wha—?”

Dean felt the tip of something smooth press against the tender flesh of his opening. It was slick with oil. He realized with a jolt what it was.

“Oh f-fuck, _Cas_!”

Dean breathed in harshly and trembled in anticipation of what was to come.

“Ready?”

“P-please,” Dean begged him.

Castiel made an amused sound and pressed the plastic tip slowly into him. Dean gasped and arched off the bed, moaning as he pushed it in further and then slid it out again, repeating the process.

Feather dusters were never meant to be used this way.

A tongue licked around his tip again, and then Castiel’s mouth took him half-way down, one hand at the base of his cock as the other pushed the duster’s handle up into him.

“Oh f-fu— _God_ — _Aaaaahhnnnggh,”_ Dean moaned. He wasn’t going to last. Too many new sensations, too much sensory overload—the soft satin of the dress fluttering against his belly, the band of lace taught around his neck and thigh, the warmth of Castiel’s lips around him—sucking him down—and lastly the smooth rod of the feather duster moving within him, it’s tip angled toward his prostate on each swipe in and out.

 _“Cas!_ Gonna— _guh_ —c-c—” The words got lost in a gurgle in his throat as the orgasm overtook him, flushing white-hot euphoria through his entire system. Dean arched off the bed with a cry, thighs trembling as each nerve was cranked into overdrive.

Castiel sucked off of him just before it happened, hand stroking up and thumb rubbing over his head to milk the most from his climax. Dean fell limp to the bed, panting, limbs feeling like rubber. When the feeling returned to them, he reached up and slipped the blindfold off his eyes, peering down at Castiel with heavy-lidded eyes just in time to watch him ease the feather duster out of his ass. Castiel looked up at him and gave him a wicked grin.

“I take it you found that enjoyable,” he said in a silky-smooth rumble.

“Heh, you could tell?” Dean flirted back, letting out a breathy laugh. He gulped down a breath of air and let his head fall back to the bed. “Holy shit, Cas. The hell did you learn that anyway?” Dean asked him, “That was—no way in hell that was your first time.”

“I assure you it was.” Castiel was silent for a beat, then continued. “I did some research,” he admitted.

“Heh, what kind of _research_?” Dean asked, eyeing him with a crooked grin.

“I…promise you won’t laugh?” Castiel asked. At Dean’s nod, he continued. “There were these two men online. They taught me the correct techniques…” Castiel trailed off, blushing lightly. Dean pushed himself up to his elbows.

“Cas…are you telling me you paid some camming couple to show you how to suck me off?” Dean asked him.

“Um…well, I assure you it was for purely educational reasons,” Cas said, blushing deeper and looking away.

“Dude, I don’t really care what your reasons were,” Dean said. He was grinning like a fool and couldn’t seem to stop. “Seriously, though? You did all that just for me?”

“I…well, yes. I didn’t want to…disappoint you…” Castiel said quietly.

“Dude, I told you,” Dean said, “Not possible.” He grinned wider. “Cas, I’m flattered, man, but…you could’ve just asked me. I would have guided you through it.”

“I know,” Castiel said. He looked down and played with the hem of Dean’s skirt, suddenly shy. “I wanted to…surprise you.”

“Well, color me surprised,” Dean told him. “That was. _Fuck_. I can’t even rate that.”

Castiel’s crooked smile stretched wider.

“An ‘off-the-charts fuck’?” he queried.

Dean laughed again.

“Hah. You—look at you, talkin’ dirty, getting’ all cocky,” he said with a grin, “Guess there’s a little bit of the devil in you after all,” he joked.

“Hmm,” Castiel hummed, reaching down to drop a kiss on his lips. “You are a bad influence,” he said.

“Heh, your priest buddy said the same thing to me this morning,” Dean said. “’S what happens when you skip church to hang out with me.”

Castiel merely hummed again and kissed him fiercely, pushing Dean back to the bed. He pulled away and nosed into Dean’s neck, biting and sucking at the soft flesh ringing the white band of lace around it.

“I feel utterly sinful,” he murmured against Dean’s skin.

Dean laughed, breathlessly, and groaned as he bit down again.

When he moved to Dean’s earlobe, Dean squirmed under him.

“Cas,” he breathed, groaning lightly, “You haven’t— _haah_ —nnngg…”

The thought trailed off as Castiel traced the rim of his ear with his tongue.

“I am in no hurry,” he whispered into Dean’s ear, licking at it again, “I will wait for you to be ready again.”

His teeth latched onto Dean’s earlobe and pulled lightly. Dean groaned again as his tongue followed, licking at the soft appendage. He closed his eyes and breathed harshly, already wanting more.

It didn’t take long. 

This time Dean took control, surging up and gripping Castiel by the sides of his head, forcing his tongue past his lips for a rough kiss. He pulled away, mouth open and panting, tongue hanging loose and dripping with their shared saliva.

He dipped low to Castiel’s jawline, grating teeth against the bristles of his five o’clock shadow. Castiel hung his head back with a breathy sound of pleasure, giving Dean full access to the tender length of skin under his jaw. He trailed open-mouthed kisses down it, sucking lightly at each place his lips touched.

Castiel’s hand brushed over the garter on his left thigh, resting over the thin band of satin and lace. His fingers played with the delicate fabric, relishing the minute patterns that the tips read blindly in his exploration.

“Scoot up,” Dean rasped when he pulled away again, then followed as Castiel lay back on the bed.

Dean’s hands went to the front of his pants, fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He slid them down Castiel’s legs and tossed them aside.

He grabbed the bottle of lube Cas had dropped on the bed earlier and a condom and then straddled Cas again. He set the latter aside for the moment and poured a generous amount of oil over his fingers, then hooked an arm around himself to press into his anus. He groaned and threw his head back, sinking three fingers into himself at once. The feather duster had been a good warm-up, and it wouldn’t take nearly as long as he usually needed to be ready.

Castiel was propped up on his elbows, watching him hungrily. One hand gripped Dean’s thigh, the other finding him under the black satin of his dress. He ran his thumb over the head of Dean’s cock, drawing a pleasant shudder from him.

Castiel pumped Dean as he stretched himself open, drawing a never-ending series of moans from him as he prepared himself for the swollen beast between Castiel’s legs. Dean leaned forward and kissed him, fucking back into his hand. Then he grabbed the condom and ripped it open with his teeth. Castiel helped him slip in on, and then with another shudder Dean let his fingers slide out of his anus.

He walked forward on his knees, hovering over Castiel and pumped him a couple of times to get him ready. It didn’t take much. Castiel was flushed with arousal and breathing hard before Dean had even touched him. When he did he let out a cry, letting his head fall back to the pillow.

“ _Ahh_ , _Dean_!”

Dean let out a breathy laugh.

“H-haven’t even started yet, Cas,” he said.

Dean raised himself over Cas, finding the right angle. Then he sank down with a chesty moan.

Castiel’s hips surged under him, ripping a loud yelp from Dean at the unexpected movement. He recoiled at the burning intensity of being shoved into all at once.

“Ca-Cas, gi—g-gimme a second here,” Dean panted with a wince.

Castiel seemed to realize what he’d done and stilled immediately. He pushed into a sitting position and grabbed Dean by the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he breathed against him, “You… _ahh_ —it…f-feels so good, Dean,” he warbled. 

“Heh. Yeah, I know,” Dean said. “Been a while since I rode anyone though. Feather duster doesn’t exactly count. Gotta…gotta warm up to it, okay?”

At Castiel’s nod, Dean lowered himself carefully onto him, pushing his head up into the space between his legs. This time Castiel lay frozen, holding his breath as he waited for Dean to be ready. Dean groaned at the stretching feeling, sinking inch by burning inch until Castiel was balls deep in him.

“Okay I…I think I’m good,” he rasped.

Castiel nodded and gripped him by the thighs, pushing up into him. Dean cried out and rolled his hips forward, riding him as he moved.

“F- _Fuck_ — _Cas!!_ ” Dean cried as the man bucked his hips, hitting the spot just right. He shuddered and rolled forward again, groaning as the hard line of flesh slid against his prostate.

“D- _Dean_!!” Castiel answered his cry. He moaned loudly and threw back his head, gripping Dean tighter around the thighs.

“C’mere,” Dean panted, motioning with his hand.

Castiel shoved himself up to a seated position and Dean scooted forward, repositioning so that he was in Cas’s lap. Then he grabbed the man by the hair and kissed him hard, thrusting forward with both hips and tongue. Castiel’s resounding moan got lost in his mouth, but Dean felt it reverberate through his chest.

He gripped Cas by the side and slid his hand down his ass, angling him forward…

_“Oh! Dean!”_

Castiel broke away from the kiss with a cry as Dean worked a finger up into him, then another. He nearly fell back on Dean’s fingers, and if it weren’t for his upper body strength and the grip Dean had about him things could have been a lot more painful.

“Try not to— _haa—_ break my fingers there, Cas,” Dean panted into his mouth.

Castiel nodded vigorously and let out a “Sorry,” before gripping Dean by the short strands of his hair and kissing him hard. When they broke apart, Cas tugged his head back, mouth and teeth latching onto his neck and drawing a lengthy groan out of Dean.

“ _Uuuuuhhh—Caaas!!”_ Dean cried, jerking against him. Castiel’s breath hitched and he lost his purchase on Dean’s neck, then found it again moments later.

 _“Deeeeean,”_ Cas breathed against his skin.

Then he was writhing under Dean as he fingered that magic spot.

“Dean!!!”

Castiel came hard and fast, grinding up into Dean with one last violently shuddering thrust. Dean gasped and cried out, his voice echoing off the walls of the small room as he felt himself clenching around Cas.

Castiel’s hand was suddenly around him, moving fast up and down to stimulate his own climax.

One stroke, two—then on the third Dean let out a throaty _“Uuuuhhh,”_ and looked down to see his cum spilling out from under the white lace of the French Maid’s outfit and all over Castiel’s hand and stomach. He pulled his fingers out of the man’s ass and grabbed the back of his head, forcing their mouths together.

Dean gradually slowed his hips, then winced as he pulled off the man’s lap and sat back on the bed between his outstretched legs. Castiel was breathing hard—they both were—chests rising up and crashing down. They grinned stupidly at each other, basking in the lingering effects of passion buzzing under their skin.

“I think tonight is…one of the top-ten fucks…I’ve ever had,” Dean gasped, speaking between breathes.

Castiel let out a breathy laugh. A wicked gleam flitted across his eyes.

“One day,” he promised, “They will all be mine.”

Dean’s breath caught in his chest. _Oh fuck_. He wasn’t sure if the feeling that sentence elicited was due to arousal or the fact that Cas had just implied they had a future together.

And not just _a_ future. A _long_ future. With lots of hot sex.

In the end, Dean decided it was both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> This chapter gave me A LOT of trouble. Like, pretty sure I spent a at least 5 full days (I'm talking 9-5 here people, 100% serious) editing and rewriting the opening argument scene, so I HOPE TO CHUCK it hits the mark. ~~I just wanna write fluff and smut is that too much to ask~~ The French Maid scene was infinitely easier and more fun. ;)
> 
> Let me know what you think!! :D


	15. Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean plans on telling his dad about Cas, if he can just get the words out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING: Descriptions of bodily injury.** I promise everyone is okay.  
> Disclaimer: I'm not an EMT or a nurse, nor do I know CPR. My medical knowledge is limited to Google so if anything is off, my apologies.

* * *

Spending the night in Castiel’s tiny twin bed was what Dean might consider a mixed blessing. On the one hand, snuggling together was a requirement, not an option. On the other, he didn’t actually get much solid sleep and woke up with a serious neck tweak from being cramped like a pretzel all night.

Dean rolled out of bed barely past sunrise just so that he could stretch the kinks out of his body. He dug around in the cupboards for some coffee and set it to brew while he relieved himself. Castiel stirred at the sound of the toilet flushing (not much he could do about that) and grumbled something Dean didn’t catch. A couple minutes later he sat up in bed and rubbed at his eyes, hair sticking up in the back and eyes bleary with sleep.

“What time is it?” he mumbled, peering outside. The sun was barely visible in the sky.

“Early,” Dean replied. He poured a cup of coffee for them both and then brought a mug over to Cas, handing it off to him.

Castiel grunted and accepted the offering, taking a long drink before lowering the mug. He seemed slightly more awake when he did but still sported a bit of a grumpy frown.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair, playing with the soft tendrils that refused to follow gravity and instead stick up at odd angles. He dropped a morning kiss on those adorable pouty lips.

“How’d you sleep?” Dean asked him when he pulled back.

“Poorly,” Castiel grumbled, “This bed was not built for two grown men to share it.”

Dean laughed lightly at that. He’d been thinking the exact same thing.

“Yeah, no offense but this entire _apartment_ —if you can call it that—wasn’t built for a grown man _period_. A Keebler elf, maybe.” He cracked a smile. “You should just move in with me,” he said.

The words were out before Dean realized what he’d just said.

Castiel blinked at him, frozen in the moment. Dean felt the blood drain away from his face.

“Uh—that’s not what I—I just meant—” He broke off and swallowed hard, all the moisture sucked from his mouth. That’s what he got for speaking before the first cup of coffee. He tried again. “I was—I was kidding,” he said weakly, “I know it’s too soon for that.”

Castiel nodded and stared down into his mug.

“Yes, perhaps we should…ahh…we probably shouldn’t rush this,” Castiel struggled to say. He tapped his fingers against the mug in his hand. His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “But it is…a nice thought,” he admitted.

“Yeah?” Dean blurted, mood soaring in sudden euphoria. At Castiel’s shy nod, he grinned widely. “Heh, awesome.”

They stared at one another for a beat, both far too flattered yet embarrassed to say any more about their shared domestic dreams. Dean was the first to break the silence.

“So? What’s on the agenda for today?” he asked.

“I have the day off,” Castiel replied, “So…ah…I am…all yours.”

He blushed furiously, eyes glued to his coffee mug. Dean felt his grin grow wider.

“Wish I could say the same,” he said. “Gotta pick up my car this morning and then head over to the office.” Dean was suddenly very excited. “Wait ‘til you see it, Cas. _Oh man_ , baby’s about the most beautiful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on.”

He hung his head back with a love-struck sigh just thinking about the Impala.

Castiel sniggered.

“I see I have competition,” he noted humorously.

Dean looked at him with a bit of a pout on his lips.

“Hey, she came first,” he pointed out.

Castiel just looked at him with an unimpressed squint in his eyes.

They ordered breakfast in, and then while Castiel was finishing, (Dean on average ate about three times faster than he did) Dean dragged the tool box he’d brought with him the day before over to the sink and spent a few minutes fixing the faucet so that it no longer leaked.

“Oh, that is much better,” Castiel said once the constant dripping noise stopped.

“Man, how could you _stand_ that?” Dean asked him, tossing the wrench back in the box. “I’ve been here for less than a day and it was driving me nuts.”

“I tuned it out,” Castiel replied.

Dean moved on to the dishes then, hauling them back over from the bin on the table where he’d placed them temporarily while he fixed the sink.

“Dean, you don’t have to do that,” Castiel said. “I can do them later.”

Dean made a noncommittal noise and kept going.

“’S no trouble,” he replied. He flashed Castiel a smile over his shoulder. “Besides, missed my weekly dish duty with Charlie yesterday,” he said.

That and he was still trying to win back some points for what happened at the Mash. 

“Where did you learn to fix a sink anyway?” Castiel asked him then, “I would have assumed you would just call someone if it was needed.”

Dean shrugged as he filled up the dish basin with sudsy water.

“I told you my family owns a bunch of motels right?” he said, glancing over his shoulder. Castiel nodded, so Dean continued. “Well, when we were kids Sammy and I used to help my dad during the summers—we’d travel all over the country, checking in on properties and fixing ‘em up. Couple times we spent the whole summer in one place while my dad and Bobby did a renovation job. I learned my way around a tool box pretty early on.”

Castiel nodded again.

“I see.”

“And then there was the Impala,” Dean continued. “It was my dad’s first. He gave it to me when I graduated high school. Him and Bobby taught me everything I know about cars.”

“And your mother, she was okay with you and your brother spending your summers in this way?” Castiel asked him.

Dean tilted his head, considering it.

“I mean, I guess. She came along too. Summers were kind of an extended family vacation…only we were working, you know? Mom helped out too—did the books and picked out most of the decorations and stuff. Otherwise me and Sammy wouldn’t have seen much of our dad growing up. He was always travelling. It was just us and mom most of the time, sometimes Bobby when he was around—but then he was usually travelling with dad too.” He shrugged. “Was a good childhood though, I guess.”

“Mine was…well, you know the story,” Castiel said. “My brothers and I didn’t get along, even before I came out. They…bullied me when our parents weren’t looking.”

“Sorry to hear that, man,” Dean said.

Castiel shrugged, as though to say _kids will be kids_ but it was clear he was still affected by the memories it stirred up.

The conversation bled into silence, with Dean doing the dishes and Castiel watching him from the bed, sipping on what was now his third cup of coffee. After a few minutes he reached over to the stack of CDs balanced haphazardly on the nightstand and selected one to put on.

Orchestra music floated through the small apartment, deep cello and soulful piano filling its corners. A deep tenor voice began to sing.

_Parla al mio_ _cuore_ _digli che sai_

_Dei miei_ _dolori_ _che non_ _dormon_ _mai…_

Dean closed his eyes and listened for a few bars, his hands stilling in the sink. Then he started when a pair of arms slid around his waist.

_“Ah, com'è_ _difficile_ _spiegare_

_Ma tu_ _stella_ _amica_

_Dimmi se resterà.”_

Castiel’s voice joined in with the music easily. Dean sighed and leaned back, listening enraptured as Castiel sang. The song sounded vaguely familiar and he wanted to ask about the artist, but dared not interrupt.

_“Dell'amore non si sa_

_Quando_ _viene_ _o se ne va_

_Dell'amore non si sa_

_Quando sarà_

_Da dove arriverà.”_

A pair of lips pressed against his neck. Castiel let the music continue and hummed along, mapping kisses under Dean’s jawline while pressed up against him from behind. His embrace was warm and enveloping—and comforting in a way Dean had never felt before.

_“Ah, com'è_ _difficile_ _sperare_

_Ma tu_ _dimmi_ _sempre e solo_

_La verità.”_

Dean didn’t know what the words meant, but he could feel their meaning. Love, and loss, and uncertainty. Then abruptly the feeling changed to one of hope.

_“Dell'amore non si sa_

_Quando_ _viene_ _o se ne va_

_Dell'amore non si sa_

_Ma_ _quando_ _amore arriverà_

_Tutto_ _intorno_ _cambierà_

_Nella_ _notte_ _brillerà.”_

The music slowed. Castiel’s voice dropped to a low hush as he sang the last two halting lines directly into Dean’s ear.

_“Tutto cambierà_

_Tutto rivivrà con te.”_

Tingles of warmth shivered throughout Dean’s entire body. He didn’t understand the words at all, but he was somehow reacting to their meaning. His skin prickled with goose-flesh, the hair on his arms standing straight up. He let out his breath in a _whoosh_ of air as the song faded away, not realizing he’d been holding it until he felt suddenly lightheaded.

“Cas…” he rasped, the emotion thick in his throat. He wanted to ask what the words meant, but didn’t want to break the spell. Somehow it was better not knowing.

“Dean…” Castiel murmured affectionately against his neck.

He didn’t offer any further words, simply drew his arms tighter around Dean. The next song began to play, and they swayed gently back and forth, the dishes forgotten. Dean let out a sigh and relaxed further into his arms, letting go of his need to know. He hummed absently with the music, allowing his body to rock in harmony with Castiel’s.

He had words he wished to say too, but…maybe they didn’t need words just yet.

* * *

Dean was a nervous knot on their way to pick up his car. After over two weeks of waiting for it to arrive, he couldn’t decide if he was excited or about to throw up. The condition of the Impala hinged on which it would be, and the uncertainty—Schrodinger’s car, if you will—was killing him.

Dean groaned when the company car pulled up to the trucking parking lot and he saw the rows of car trailers parked neatly next to each other. His eyes scanned the lot for the glossy black of the Impala, but it must have been parked in the back because it was nowhere in sight. He covered his eyes.

“I can’t do this,” he said from under them, stopping abruptly. “Cas, lie and tell me Baby’s gonna be okay.”

Castiel chuckled lightly and led him forward by the elbow. Dean’s feet stumbled just a little over the uneven blacktop, hands still fastened over his eyes.

“I am sure your car is fine, Dean,” he said. He paused. “I can check for you if you like,” he offered.

Dean finally lowered his hands away from his face.

“Naw, that’s okay,” he said bravely. He let out a breath and then shook out his nerves. “Okay, let’s do this,” he said with determination.

They went inside the office to sign the release forms and then followed the manager out to the lot in back. Dean let out a giddy whoop when the sleek black of the Impala came into view, morning sun glistening off her roof. He ran up to the car and laid his body over the hood.

“Oh, Baby,” he cooed, stroking the cool metal under his fingers.

He heard Castiel stop next to him and snigger. Dean glanced up at him with a pout on his lips.

“Shut up,” he said, head still sideways on the hood. “You don’t know what it’s been like these past few weeks.”

“Let me guess,” Castiel said humorously, “Like a fish out of water? Or a world without pie?”

“Oh. Pie. Now there’s an idea,” Dean said. He straightened and dug the keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go get some.”

“Now?” Castiel blurted, “It’s barely lunchtime. And I thought you had to get to the office. ”

Dean’s face scrunched up at the reminder.

“Darn. Okay, fine. Work first, pie later. Sound good?” he asked Castiel.

Castiel smiled at him and nodded.

Dean was back to being a nervous wreck by the time they pulled into the garage of his building. He was practically hyperventilating from the city traffic, where they’d nearly been hit a dozen or more times by overzealous cab-drivers.

When he finally put Baby in park, Dean let out a long breath of relief and slumped back in his seat.

“I am never driving her in the city again,” he said emphatically.

Castiel chuckled.

“That is illogical,” he remarked, “We are in the city.”

“Then she’ll stay parked here for all eternity,” Dean replied with an edge of disdain, peering at him sideways. He drew in a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves. “Ok, forget pie. I need a drink after that drive. Holy _crap_.”

He looked over to where Castiel was doing his best to keep his amusement to himself. A muffled laugh escaped from his tightly bound will at the dark look Dean shot him from the driver’s side.

“You’re losing some serious boyfriend points here,” Dean told him dryly.

Castiel just shook his head and doubled over in laughter, unable to help himself. Dean grunted and slumped down in his seat with a pout.

A light hand touched his arm a minute later, the laughter dying away. Dean looked over to Cas with the pout still on his lips and then found them covered as Castiel leaned in to kiss him.

Well, okay. That was _better_ , Dean thought to himself.

Castiel’s hand slid up under his shirt, and Dean made a small noise of pleasure as he thumbed one of his nipples. Then the hand slid lower, between his legs…

Dean’s breath hitched, hands coming up to grasp Cas by the sides of his face. Castiel’s hand groped him through his pants, and he strained upward with his hips, begging for more…

Then Castiel was moving back, a wicked grin across his face.

“Have I redeemed myself enough?” he asked, lips brushing against Dean’s as he spoke. His voice was a low gravel, and it sent shivers of pleasure through Dean’s entire body.

Dean let out a strangled sound and breathed against him.

“Hell no,” he said, eyes a piercing green.

Castiel moved back in his seat with a smug look on his face.

“I will have to try harder then,” he said, slowly— _seductively_ , which Dean didn’t even know was _possible_ —undoing his seatbelt and leaning down between Dean’s legs.

Dean stumbled out of the car a good fifteen minutes later, fumbling with the button to his pants. He _really_ hoped there weren’t any security cameras posted in the parking garage, and if there were that nobody had been watching.

He ran upstairs for a change of clothes and then headed over to the office. They parted ways outside, Cas to the park on his weekly pilgrimage to feed the ducks and Dean regrettably to a meeting that he was already late for.

* * *

Dean spent the afternoon in meetings with things that required either his input or his signature. The closing deal with Mr. Chen was the following afternoon, and Dean scoured over the final draft of the contract, playing phone tag with the company lawyer in places where he needed the jargon explained to him. He was in the middle of a consultation with his father over a possible new commercial deal downtown when there was a knock at his office door.

Kevin’s head popped in a moment later.

“Dean? There’s a call for you. It sounds urgent.”

“Tell them to call back,” Dean said, not looking up. “I’m busy.”

“I…think you’re going to want to take it,” Kevin said meaningfully. Dean looked up at him, giving his PA his full attention since he walked into the room.

“What line?” he asked.

“Line 2.”

Dean gestured for his father to wait a minute and then grabbed for the phone on his desk.

“Hello?” he answered.

_“Dean?”_ Castiel’s voice echoed over the line. He sounded upset.

“Cas? What’s wrong?” Dean bolted up from his chair in alarm, wondering what could be serious enough that Castiel would call his office line. He dug his cell out from under a stack of papers and read the small screen—seven missed calls.

Castiel’s panicked voice came in over the line.

“My—ah, my apartment. The sink—” There was a sound in the background of rushing water and a yelp from Cas. “Dean, I don’t know what happened but water is going everywhere and it won’t stop.”

“Shit. You still got the toolbox I left there?” he asked. At Castiel’s distracted “Yes,” he continued. “Grab the wrench and look under the sink—there should be a water shut-off valve under there.” He paused, waiting for Castiel to find it. “You see it yet?” he asked when the silence lengthened.

Castiel gave a frustrated sound.

“Dean, I don’t see anything that looks like a—oh wait, I—”

There was a grunt and a muffled sound over the line as though Castiel had just put it down for a moment. Then there was a loud crash and a curse.

“Dean! I made it worse!” Castiel’s panicked voice cried.

Dean couldn’t help it. He started to laugh. He rubbed at his brow with his thumb and forefinger, chuckling at the hilarity of the situation. He had been worried that it was something much more serious. He dropped his hand away and glanced at his father, who was looking at him like he’d gone insane.

“ _Dean!_ ”

Castiel’s anxiety-ridden voice over the line snapped him out of it.

“Sorry,” Dean apologized quickly. “I just—I swear I know how to fix a sink, man. I think your place is cursed.”

“I think it dislikes you for constantly making fun of it,” Castiel replied dryly. “That, or it’s getting back at me for neglecting it so much recently.”

“Heh, yeah, that could be it. Ok, hang on. I’ll be there soon as I can.” Dean hung up and looked to Kevin, who was still waiting by the door. “Kev? Cancel my meetings for the rest of the day. Something I gotta do.”

John, who had been listening in frowned and spoke up.

“Dean, we aren’t finished here,” he said disapprovingly.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, emergency,” Dean said. He grabbed his jacket from the chair.

He didn’t wait for his dad to say any more, just shrugged into his coat and rushed for the door.

When he arrived at Castiel’s apartment, he could see a puddle of water seeping out from under the door.

_Oh shit_. Dean rushed down the hallway and threw it open.

“Cas?”

Castiel was standing in the middle of his small apartment with a sopping-wet towel in one hand and a bucket in the other, trying fruitlessly to catch the flow of water spraying out from both under and above the sink. The bed sheets and blankets were on the floor, soaked completely through, where Cas must have grabbed them when he ran out of towels. He was dripping wet and looked absolutely miserable.

“Dean…” he warbled, eyes filling with tears.

_Aww, hell_.

Dean took two squelching steps into the room and grabbed the wrench that was lying on the counter, diving under the sink. He found where the shutoff valve had broken off and gripped the exposed nut with the wrench, twisting it tightly closed. The water ebbed, then slowed to a stop.

Castiel let out a large sigh when it did, his whole body drooping in relief.

Dean extracted himself from under the sink and looked at him, standing in the middle of his apartment in an inch of water, absolutely drenched from head to toe.

“You know, if you wanted a shower, you could have just used the stall over there,” Dean joked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

His attempt at lightening the mood had the exact opposite effect. Castiel collapsed onto his bared mattress and hung his head in his hands.

“Everything I own is soaking wet,” he said miserably. He drew his hands away and looked down at himself. “Including me.”

Tears welled up in his eyes again.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Dean said. He sat down on the bed next to Cas, noticing as it made a slight squishing noise as he did, and pulled Castiel into a sideways hug. “We’ll get it sorted out. Promise.”

Castiel drew in a shaky inhale and nodded, blinking back the tears.

“What if—Dean, what if I can’t stay here?” he said. His voice was pitched high in anxiety. “The water damage—”

“Cas, hey, relax buddy,” Dean said, letting him go and rubbing his back soothingly, “This is nothing. Trust me, I’ve seen a lot worse. It’ll take a few days, but it’ll dry out.” He nudged Cas with his shoulder. “And until then? Guess you’ll just have to take me up on my offer.”

Castiel’s brow pulled together sharply.

“I…suppose there is no other choice,” he said quietly.

Dean snorted.

“Jeez, make it sound like a prison sentence, why don’t you,” he remarked. Castiel looked up at him in alarm.

“Oh—no, Dean, that wasn’t what I—” He broke off with a defeated sigh, his voice dropping to a rolling grumble. “That isn’t what I meant. Of course I am happy to stay with you.”

Dean took pity on him and offered him a different door.

“Look, if it’s too much I can always set you up in one of the company’s apartments,” Dean said, “You know, temporarily.”

“No, I am…happy to stay with you,” Castiel said again. He didn’t look happy, though Dean suspected that was because he was worrying about his apartment.

“Hey,” he said, nudging him again, “What’dya say we lug some of your stuff over and then grab dinner? I know just the place to cheer you up.”

Castiel nodded slightly.

“Yes, that…sounds nice,” he said.

The ride back to his loft was silent, with Castiel looking distractedly out the window with a duffel bag of his things set on his lap. He had changed into a dry pair of clothes (his closet had been perhaps the only thing spared from the incident) but his hair was still dripping wet. Everything in the apartment was fried—the coffee maker, the toaster oven, the fridge—even the small stereo they had danced to just that morning. It was a very lucky thing Castiel hadn’t been fried along with it all.

Castiel still hadn’t said anything when he opened the front door to the loft. Dean started to take his bag to the master bedroom but stopped when he caught the solemn look on Castiel’s face.

“Cas, hey,” he said gently, putting the bag down for a minute to run his hands up Castiel’s arms, “What’s wrong, buddy? Talk to me.”

Castiel took a careful breath in and out before answering him.

“I’m sorry, it’s stupid,” he said, looking down between them. “I was thinking about…when I left home. I chose New York on a whim. I only came here because a friend suggested it and I wanted to hear a live opera. I didn’t have any plans. And when I got here, I…I didn’t know what to do. I felt lost. I had nothing—no job, nowhere to stay—it took me months just to be able to afford my own place…” Castiel’s voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I have been here for six years, and I have worked every day since in an attempt to build something of my own.” He took a deep breath. “And yet I have never been able to shake the feeling that one day it would all come crashing down around me and leave me with nothing again.”

Dean pulled Castiel into a hug.

“Hey, listen to me,” he said soothingly, holding the back of his head, “You’re not losing anything, Cas, I promise. For one thing, you’ve got a place to stay. And you’ve got me. Anything you need, Cas. I’ve got you.”

Castiel made a small strangled sound against him, as though he was attempting to hold back his tears.

“You are sure I am not imposing?” he asked in a small voice.

“What? No way!” Dean pulled back from the embrace and stared at him blankly. “Look, I know this all happened really fast but I was serious when I said you’re welcome here anytime. And it’s only for a couple of days, right? You can think of it like a…a trial run. I mean, if you want to.” He paused, hesitating when Castiel didn’t answer and merely looked down between them. “You could always take the guest bedroom if…uh, if it’s too much,” he offered.

Castiel shook his head but didn’t raise his eyes.

“No, it…doesn’t make much sense to dirty a whole other room,” he replied shyly.

Dean just grinned, secretly pleased with the new developments.

“Hey, let’s get you dried off and then grab some grub. I’m starving.”

“Don’t you need to get back to the office?” Castiel asked him, finally looking up at him. Dean just shrugged.

“Naw, they can muddle through without me,” he said, “Besides, you need me more.”

He framed Castiel’s jaw carefully in his hands and placed a slow kiss on his lips. When he pulled away he smiled and searched deep blue eyes for a spark of light. It was dim, but it was there.

“Welcome to your home-away-from-home, Dorothy,” Dean told him softly.

Castiel blinked and looked up at him, and then finally allowed a slight smile to slide across his face.

“There is…no place like home,” he replied, equally soft.

Dean pulled on a dry change of clothes while Cas dried his hair with a towel from the warming rack in Dean’s master bathroom, and then the two of them headed out again. 

They returned to Castiel’s apartment after a leisurely meal at PJ Clarke’s to grab more of Cas’s stuff (he only owned the one duffel bag, so they hadn’t been able to get it all on the first run) and also to clean up the mess that awaited them. Dean had called in a couple favors while they were at dinner. They found Ronald the maintenance guy waiting for them in the hallway when they arrived, sitting atop a large commercial dehumidifier. There was an industrial-sized fan and a shop-vac in the hallway too.

“Dean, what is all this?” Castiel blurted.

He seemed shocked by all of the heavy equipment and the speed with which it had arrived. Dean grinned at him.

“Not my first rodeo,” Dean said, “Working in the rental business we, uh…keep this stuff on hand, you know?”

Together they hauled it all in and set it up, and then Dean sent Ronald away with a trash bag full of wet linens to bring to the Laundromat.

The last thing Dean did after he finished vacuuming up all of the water was to lean the mattress up against the counter in front of the fan where it could dry out.

Castiel sat down at the kitchen table with a relieved sigh.

“That was…not nearly as bad as I thought it would be,” he said, shoulders drooping in exhaustion.

Dean joined him at the table and grabbed the hand that rested on its surface.

“Like I said, it’s not my first time doing this,” he said. He squeezed Cas’s hand. “You ready to head out?”

At Castiel’s nod, Dean grabbed his bag and they headed back to the loft.

It was dark when they arrived, and Castiel was visibly losing to the stress of the day. Dean had hoped they could cuddle up with a movie, maybe try out the Jacuzzi, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. Dean couldn’t help the grin on his face as he watched Cas pull on his night shirt (now almost exclusively Dean’s old t-shirt) and fall face first into bed.

He was still glowing from when Castiel had hung his bellboy uniform in the closet opposite from where Dean kept his clothes to keep it from getting wrinkled. Regardless of this arrangement of theirs being temporary or not, the wave of excitement that had rushed through Dean had been automatic, incontrollable, and completely unforeseen. Yes, he’d kept that side of the closet bare on purpose, but seeing it actually _filled_ with Castiel’s things made him happier than he ever expected—or would admit—that it would.

Dean pulled on his own PJs—boxers and a worn gray tee with holes around the collar—allowing his eyes to linger at the no-longer empty space across from him, and then exited the closet and climbed into bed with the man who had filled it.

Castiel flopped his head over to look at Dean as he felt the bed sag under his weight. A light smile adorned his face, his eyes half-lidded with sleep. He made no other move than to allow his smile to stretch wider as Dean reached over to press a kiss on his lips.

“Hnnn, _Dean_ ,” he breathed into the pillow when Dean moved away.

Dean hummed his content and ran a hand up the back of Castiel’s shirt in a soothing manner. Then, getting an idea, he grabbed something from the nightstand and crawled back to where Cas was laying belly-down on the bed, the covers pooled around his waist.

He leaned down again and pressed a kiss to the crook of Castiel’s neck, then walked over on his knees until he straddled Castiel’s hips. He sunk down on the man’s pillow-y backside and tugged up the end of his shirt.

“Dean, I am not in the mood,” Castiel said wearily, a line of apology in his voice. Dean chuckled lightly.

“I know, Ducky, that wasn’t what I had in mind,” Dean replied. He brought the bottle of lavender massage oil that he held in his hand in front of Castiel so that he could see what it was. “Figured you might need a bit of a stress relief after today. What’dya say?”

Castiel shrugged, too tired to make up his mind. He let Dean pull the shirt over his head and then sighed in contentment when Dean placed oil-warmed hands over his shoulders and began to slowly massage the taught muscles of his back up and down.

“Oh…that feels wonderful,” Castiel murmured sleepily. He shifted under Dean, finding a more comfortable position and then sighed again as Dean’s hands slid from his shoulders to his lower back.

He groaned when Dean began kneading the knots out of the base of his neck.

“Oh God— _Dean_. Where did you learn how to do that?” Castiel crooned.

“Took a few classes,” Dean told him, running his hands up through his hair to massage his scalp next, “Purely selfish reasons. Can’t tell you how many times this has gotten me laid.”

Castiel let out a satisfied hum.

“I will count myself lucky then,” he murmured, “Now that you are all mine.”

“Guess that makes you a Lucky Duck,” Dean joked, pressing a kiss just under his ear.

Castiel snorted at the bad pun and groaned as Dean continued to loosen his knotted-up muscles. He was snoring softly by the end of the massage, and Dean climbed off of him with an easy smile hanging on his lips. He pulled the covers up over Cas and then slid in next to him, snuggling close to his side.

He had his Baby and he had his angel right where he wanted them.

* * *

Castiel was gone when Dean woke up in the morning, having an early shift at the hotel. There was coffee waiting for him in the carafe when he shuffled into the kitchen, though, and that set a smile to Dean’s face and a spring in his step as he started his day.

Going in early meant Cas got out early, so they made plans to meet up for a late lunch before Dean had his final meeting with Mr. Chen. Dean headed over to Castiel’s apartment before heading in to work himself, taking a few minutes to check on how the place was drying out with all of the equipment running overnight. The mattress was still damp and would need at least another day, but everything else seemed fine.

His father wasn’t exactly happy that he never made it back to the office the previous day, but honestly Dean couldn’t care less. Cas had needed him, so he had been there, plain and simple. Of course, trying to explain this to John when they were supposed to be ‘just friends’ was proving to be more trouble than it was worth.

“We’re talking about priorities here, Dean,” John was saying, mouth drawn in a harsh frown, “You could have just sent Ron over. You didn’t have to go yourself.”

Dean took a calculated breath. If ever he was going to tell his dad about them, now would be a good time. But… Dean hesitated, his nerves jittering under his skin. Cas was on his way to meet him for lunch and—Dean glanced at the clock—he really didn’t want to do this on a deadline.

“He was there when I needed him,” Dean answered instead, implying the incident at the party, “It’d be pretty shitty of me if I didn’t return the favor.”

“You’re doing an awful lot for this _friend_ ,” John remarked.

Dean’s shoulders tensed at the way he said _friend._

His dad knew Castiel was staying with him while his apartment dried out. He also knew Cas was on his way over to join him for lunch. Dean understood where the comment was coming from, but that still didn’t make it easier to hear.

_He’s more than just a friend_. The thought blared inside of Dean’s head as though it were being shouted through a megaphone. It would be so easy to say it. If he could just get his lips to form around the words…

“He doesn’t have much.” The words that came out ended up sounding a lot more defensive than Dean had intended. He shrugged and tried again. “Anyway, I’m the one who broke his apartment. Least I can do is give the guy a roof over his head for a few days.”

“Why the hell is he staying with _you_?” John asked with a frown, “That’s what I don’t get.”

The unsaid implication hung heavily in the air. _What about his boyfriend?_ Dean almost, _almost_ told him then, but the weight of the admission hung like a lead ball in his throat. He swallowed it down and resigned himself to the fact that maybe it just wasn’t going to happen today.

“It’s complicated,” he answered instead, his voice rough. As in, _his boyfriend is me_.

“Just…be careful, Dean. I know he’s your friend and all, but… wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

Dean had turned to grab his phone from his desk, so his back was to his father when the remark hit him. He felt his shoulders tense back up. _Do it_ , his thoughts screamed at him, _tell him._ Dean swallowed thickly, dragging up the courage to say what he needed to say.

“Yeah, about that…”

He started to turn around to face his father when there was a knock at his door. Dean froze, not sure if he should be grateful or pissed at the interruption. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah?” he called out, his voice gruffer than he had intended.

The door opened and suddenly Castiel was there in the doorway. Dean felt his shoulders relax instantly. He was off the hook, for now at least. Saved by the…bellboy.

“Cas, hey,” Dean greeted. His whole face brightened as soon as Castiel stuck his head into the room. He couldn’t help it. The expression was automatic, as was the flood of warmth that rushed through the center of Dean’s chest as Castiel smiled at him and fixed deep blue eyes on his. For a moment everything else was forgotten.

Then John cleared his throat and Castiel’s eyes flickered over to where the older man was seated across from Dean’s desk. He had turned sideways in his chair when the door opened, and was now peering at Castiel with a severe frown that pulled his aged face down into hard lines. Castiel shifted awkwardly, smile faltering at the look the elder Winchester was shooting him.

“Dean. Are you ready for lunch?” Castiel asked hesitantly.

Next to him, John’s frown deepened. Dean ignored it and answered Cas with an easy smile.

“Yeah, give us a few minutes to wrap things up here,” Dean told him, “Kev can give you a tour if you want, show you were we hide the whiskey. And the porn.”

“Oh. No, that’s alright. I’ll just…wait here,” Castiel replied.

“Well okay, suit yourself,” Dean said, giving the man half a shrug, “I won’t be long, promise.”

Castiel closed the door softly with a click and there was silence in the office for a beat. Then, his dad spoke.

“Dean,” he started to say, an edge of warning in his voice.

“Dad, I really don’t give a shit where he sticks it,” Dean said bluntly, averting his eyes. It wasn’t entirely the truth, but it wasn’t exactly a lie either.

John grunted, watching him carefully as Dean shut down his computer and rearranged the files on his desk into some semblance of order. Ever since Castiel had seen the state of his home office and mentioned that a neat workspace at the beginning of the day led to better productivity overall, Dean was inclined to test the theory for himself. So far, Cas had been right.

Deciding he ought to _actually_ clear off his desk rather than just shove everything into a pile in the corner, Dean opened his bottom drawer and began carefully replacing the files back where they belonged. He had almost forgotten his father was still there until he spoke.

“You’ve changed,” John said, a peculiar edge to his voice.

Dean’s head snapped up to meet his father’s calculating gaze, his green eyes widening. He dropped the last folder into the drawer without seeing or even caring where it ended up.

“Uh, okay?” Dean replied, licking his lips, “Like…in what way?”

His father peered at him curiously, trying to pin down the feeling.

“I don’t know.” John dropped his gaze and shook his head. He passed a hand over his mouth, contemplating the question. “After what happened with Carmen I expected you would be angry, but instead you seem…more relaxed. Happy, even.” John snorted, amused. “Don’t tell me two weeks in a relationship was too much for you, son,” he said.

Dean chuckled at that.

“Naw,” he said, gaze darting off to the side. “I just…I dunno. It’s hard to explain.” He felt a blush creep into his cheeks, making them tingle like static on a radio. Then he took a big breath and gave his father half a shrug, rubbing a hand over the polished wooden surface of his desk. “Guess I’m just finally figuring out who I am, you know?”

It was as close as he was going to get to a confession today. He could feel his father’s eyes on him as he did but couldn’t bring himself to look up. He knew John could tell there was something Dean wasn’t telling him. Dean swallowed, wondering if his dad _suspected_ and just wasn’t saying anything. His nerves skittered under his skin at that thought, and he felt a cold sweat break out at the base of his neck. Finally his father gave up trying to read the answers from his silence and let out a heavy sigh.

“I just want you to take the family business seriously,” the older Winchester said, “You’ve got a good thing going here.”

“I am taking it seriously,” Dean insisted.

“Is that what you call cancelling meetings and running out in the middle of the day?” John frowned and shook his head. “You’re really starting to build something here, Dean. I’d just hate to see you lose whatever it is you’ve found.”

“Trust me, I’m not gonna let that happen,” Dean said definitively. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and slipped it over his shoulders, tugging at the hem to straighten it and changing the subject. “I’ll be back in a bit to grab what I need for this meeting.”

“Dean,” his father said as Dean started toward the door. Dean stopped and turned back to face him.

“Yeah?” Dean asked.

“Think about what I said,” John told him.

Dean turned back to the door with an offhand wave to his dad.

“Yeah, whatever,” he replied.

Dean slipped his hand into Castiel’s the moment they left the building, leading him toward the park. His meeting with Mr. Chen wasn’t until four, so they had plenty of time to grab a leisurely lunch before Dean had to race uptown.

He was quiet as they walked, a light frown tugging at his lips. He ran over the conversation with his father a dozen times, thinking of a hundred things he could have said differently.

“Dean…is something wrong?” Castiel asked him suddenly.

Dean blinked and dragged his eyes up off the sidewalk to look at him, realizing he hadn’t said a thing to Cas beyond a generic greeting. Now he was looking at Dean in concern, his brow furrowed deeply. Dean hesitated, lips working soundlessly until he found the courage to speak. 

“Cas, can I tell you something?” Dean asked.

Castiel seemed alarmed by the unusually serious tone of his voice.

“You can tell me anything, Dean, you know that,” he answered carefully.

Dean nodded.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. He sighed and stopped walking, gripping Castiel’s hand and looking down at the sidewalk. “Thing is, my dad...he’s been on my case a lot lately. I think he’s starting to suspect…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “Anyway, after what happened at the party, I decided I’m gonna tell him. Soon. I almost told him today I just…I dunno, I chickened out.”

“Dean…” Castiel peered at him for a long moment, his eyes squinting at Dean. He seemed to be choosing his next words very carefully. “I am happy to hear you wish to tell him.” He smiled softly and continued in a lower voice. “Of course I am. But I want you to do it for _your_ sake, not for mine.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, the relief pouring through him, “Really. But...this isn’t just about me. You deserve better than all the lies I’ve been spinning. Hell, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be _considering_ this. But it…it’s got to be the right time. It took me months to tell Sammy, and that was only cuz my mom made me promise…” Dean knew he was rambling so he trailed off and licked his lips, trying again. “Anyway, I’m promising _you_ now. I plan on telling him, I just gotta…work up the nerve to actually do it.”

Castiel hummed and brought their joined hands up between them, turning them over so that Dean’s was palm up, and then covered it with the one by his side.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said, smiling softly, “That means…a lot to me.” He paused, his brow pinching together. “I don’t want you to think that I am pressuring you in any way,” he said, “I merely mention this as a word of caution. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be to tell him.”

“Yeah, ain’t that the truth,” Dean said with a low line of sarcasm. He let out another long sigh. “I know, Cas, I just…wish I knew what to expect. I hate not knowing whether…I mean, he’s my _dad_ and if he…” Dean trailed off again, his fear spiraling down into the worst case scenario.

Castiel placed a hand on his arm.

“I understand, Dean,” he repeated softly.

“Shit,” Dean cursed, rubbing a hand over his face, “It shouldn’t matter this much what he thinks but... I want him to be proud of me, you know?”

“Yes, I know all too well,” Castiel replied. He frowned slightly and looked down between them. “Dean, I cannot give you an answer here, but I can tell you with some certainty that regardless of how your father reacts, you _will_ feel better. There is something about coming out that is…freeing. When I told my parents it was as though I had put the final piece of the puzzle in place. I felt…more myself afterward. Whole. Complete.”

“But they rejected you,” Dean pointed out.

“Yes,” Castiel said, his lips upturned in a sad smile. “That part hurt, but I would still choose it over the alternative. Lying to myself and pretending to be someone I was not was still a lot worse than feeling their rejection.” His brow furrowed. “I suppose somewhere along the line I stopped caring what other people think,” he said seriously, “As long as _I_ am someone I can be proud of…that is all that matters to me now.”

Dean thought about that, his mouth pulled down in a serious line. They started walking again, silent for a good block before Dean said anything further. 

“I wish I had your guts,” he confessed.

Castiel hummed, contemplating the words briefly before responding.

“You will find you a braver than you think.” He looked at Dean, his blue eyes soft and crinkled at the edges. “And until that day comes I will be right here with you.”

Dean ducked his head and blushed furiously, the words hitting him at his core. They weren’t all that different from the words he’d told Cas in Chinatown right before they slept together. Was this what it felt like having a partner? Someone to stand by his side through thick and thin, no matter what? Someone to support him through the good days _and_ the bad ones? Dean took a deep breath, feeling a little weak in the knees all of a sudden.

He’d never felt anything like this before.

They followed the perimeter of Central Park toward Fifth avenue for another couple blocks and then turned down 61st street. A comfortable silence stretched between them before they picked up their usual, light conversation.

“How was work?” Dean asked. He glanced at Cas with an affectionate smile and received a warm grin in return.

“It was uneventful,” Castiel replied, blushing slightly and looking down at the sidewalk, “Which is a relief after the last few weeks,” he admitted. “Now that wedding season is over things will be much more manageable.”

“That so?” Dean remarked, “Weddings in a city this big must be nuts. I guess I don’t really don’t get it. The fuss, the ruffles, all that money?” He looked to Cas, who’s head was tilted to the side, peering at him curiously. “I just mean it’s not for me,” he added.

“I see,” Cas said. His gaze dropped once more to the sidewalk.

“I don’t mean it like that,” Dean said quickly. He placed his hand on Cas’s arm to get his attention. “I don’t mean marriage. That’s not it. It’s all the pomp and circumstance.” He shrugged. “Guess I’d prefer something small, you know? Just a few close friends and family members.”

Castiel’s mouth opened but no words came out at first. He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. I agree,” he said after a moment. “I am not a fan of all the fuss either. A quiet wedding would suit me just fine.”

He offered Dean a little smile, and Dean’s face lit up red. This conversation following the one they’d just had made Dean’s heart thump pleasantly against his chest. He suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

“R-r-r-right, well,” Dean stuttered. He looked up and stopped abruptly. “Oh, uh, we’re here.”

Castiel looked up and read out the sign where they had stopped.

“ _Palais by Perfect Pie_?” Castiel glanced to Dean with a look that read _really_? “You brought me to a pie palace?”

“Is that what it means?” Dean answered. He shrugged. “My French is mostly just food and uh…bedroom talk. But yeah, pie place but they’ve got regular food too. They’ve got burgers.” He grinned.

Castiel’s eyes grew wide in excitement.

“Burgers _and_ pie?” he echoed.

“Like heaven on Earth,” Dean replied with a wink. “Come on, I plan on eating my desert first, maybe eat some real food after, but only if I feel like it.”

He grinned shamelessly, a five-year-old in a grown man’s body. Cas laughed at him and hung fondly off his arm, fingers gripping the soft worn leather of Dean’s favorite jacket.

“We should not keep that sweet tooth waiting,” Castiel said, tugging Dean toward the door.

They sat down at a private table in the center of the lime-green painted café. Cas ordered a burger and Dean—true to his word—ordered pie.

“I think you brought me here just so that you could have pie,” Castiel said around a mouthful of burger. It was shoved into the side of his cheek and the resemblance to a chipmunk had Dean chuckling to himself.

“Hey, I deserve it,” he said defensively, “Got the closing with Mr. Chen in like, an hour. And if I’m gonna tell my dad about us then I need all the confectionery encouragement I can get. Support pie, that’s what this is.” Dean gestured to his plate, then shoveled a large bite of warmed blueberry pie into his mouth and grinned, mouth open as he chewed.

Castiel grimaced a little and averted his eyes.

“Ulgh, you actually _are_ a toddler, aren’t you?” he said.

Dean gave him a half smile and swallowed.

“Maybe. But it’s a hell of a lot more fun to be like this than to be some boring working stiff,” he replied.

“I suppose there is some truth to that,” Castiel admitted. He looked down at his burger. “I am always the sensible one. I follow the rules, work hard, eat healthy. These last few weeks with you is the most decadence I’ve allowed myself in some time,” he said. “I rarely indulge on my own, as you know.” He shook his head. “It just doesn’t come naturally to me with how I was raised and how I’ve lived since I left home.”

“See, that’s where we’re different,” Dean said. He scooped a spoonful of vanilla bean ice cream and the goopy insides of the pie—with just a touch of crust mounting the soft pile of juicy berries—and dropped the whole confectionary bundle onto his tongue. “I see something I want, I go after it. That’s just the way I am. Life’s too short to live it being so damn serious all the time.”

“I suppose,” Castiel repeated.

“Course that doesn’t mean—” Dean broke off, jabbing his fork into the pie again. “Neither way is the _right_ or _wrong_ way to live. Just…different. To each their own, I guess.” He shrugged. “Like, I should probably be more responsible. And you maybe need to loosen up a little.” He grinned at Cas. “We’re pretty great for each other when you think about it like that.”

Castiel flushed and froze for a second, visibly flattered by Dean’s words. The words out of his mouth next were stuttering.

“Y-yes, you make a good point,” he said. He stuffed a large bite of burger into his mouth so that he didn’t have to speak for a while.

When he did finally swallow, Castiel looked down at the burger in his hands and set it carefully down on the plate in front of him. Then he raised a hand and flagged the waiter.

“I would like a piece of pie,” he told the young waiter. “I would like the…strawberries and cream pie.”

Dean grinned. Castiel noticed the look he was shooting from across the table and sent Dean one of his own.

“Dean, I can practically _hear_ your lewd thoughts,” Cas said, frowning slightly. There was a pinkish hue to his cheeks though, which told Dean he wasn’t offended. If anything, he was a little turned on.

“All the things we could do with strawberry cream pie,” Dean just said, licking his lips and wiggling his eyebrows.

The waiter still stood by the table. He gave Dean a sneaky little smile.

“We do sell whole pies to go,” the waiter offered.

“I’ll take three,” Dean told him.

“He’s joking,” Cas told the waiter. He turned back to Dean. “Dean, no.”

“Dean _yes._ Come on, Cas. Think about it. My place. Pie. _Whipped cream_. We can pick some up later.”

He grinned at Cas, giving him the dirtiest and most charming of his A-game smiles—guaranteed to drop the pants of any good looking guy or gal in ten seconds or less… or your money back.

“Perhaps we should discuss this in private,” Castiel said. He was blushing so hard he actually seemed to be sweating a little.

Dean laughed. “Alright, Ducky, we’ll _discuss it_.” He paused, licked his lips. “So should I put an order in now, or…?”

The waiter was still standing at their table, notepad and pen at the ready. He looked between the two of them with a knowing grin on his face.

“When would you like me to put in the order for the wedding cake?” he asked.

Castiel groaned and covered his face, burying it in his hands.

“Just bring me my pie, please,” he grumbled out from under them.

Dean laughed and looked up at the waiter.

“Do you do wedding pies?” he asked.

Castiel groaned again and ripped his hands away from his face.

“ _Dean!_ ”

Again, Dean laughed. “Yeah, okay, okay. I was just kidding.” He gave the waiter a wink. “Better bring him his pie. Pronto.”

The waiter strode away, smirking to himself.

Castiel was still having trouble looking at Dean when the pie arrived.

“This is the strangest date I have ever been on,” he declared, staring down at his plate. He gathered the tip of the pie up on his fork between two delicate dollops of cream.

“Heh, yeah right. Come on, Cas, you took me to the friggin’ _opera_ the day after we met,” Dean pointed out, waving his fork at the man across from him. “And then you took me to church and a soup kitchen and we _fed ducks in the park_.” Dean laughed. “You’re not exactly _normal_ , in case you haven’t noticed.”

“These are all true things,” Cas replied. He raised the fork up to his lips, still hesitating. “I just don’t see the point in hiding who I am, I suppose,” he said. He frowned slightly. “I spent far too many years doing that under my parents’ roof. I told myself when I left that I wouldn’t be that person anymore.”

“Good,” Dean said. He stuffed the last bit of his pie in and spoke around it, eyes cast down to his plate, “’Cause that guy sounds boring. This is the you I’m f—” Dean practically bit his tongue off to stop the words that nearly fell out of his mouth.

_Falling for._

Who was he kidding? He was already one hundred percent face-first on the pavement in love. But Cas didn’t need to know that just now. It was still far too soon.

“—p-prefer,” Dean finished instead.

Castiel’s frown slowly melted into a soft smile—just the edges of his mouth upturned in silent amusement, like they had that first day they met.

Castiel finally got over his reservations over eating dessert for lunch and placed the forkful of pie carefully into his mouth.

“ _Mm!_ ” Cas froze, eyes going wide as the bright flavors of strawberries mixed with cream hit his tongue. Then his mouth opened a little and he gave a little sigh, his whole body drooping with ecstasy. His eyes glanced down to his pie with new respect. “That is very good pie,” he said.

Dean was reaching forward with his fork the instant he said it and before Castiel could get his protest of _“Hey!”_ past his lips, Dean was already sliding a large bite of strawberries and cream into his mouth.

“That was _my_ pie,” Cas complained at him.

Dean was too busy melting from the taste to care.

“Oh, _god_ that’s fucking—that’s like sex, if it was baked in an oven,” he said, jabbing with his fork at the pastry in question to illustrate his point.

Castiel took another bite and again practically melted into the table.

“Ohh, that’s good.” He practically moaned it. “Now I wonder why I even bothered with the burger,” he said.

“Right?” Dean grinned at him with a child-like twinkle in his eye. “Okay, I’m calling it. Waiter! Two pies to go. One blueberry, one strawberry cream.”

The waiter perked up from across the room and grinned at them.

“Coming right up!” he called. He pulled the notebook from his apron pocket and jotted it down.

“Oh, and, uh, two more pieces of the same while you’re at it,” Dean said, “For immediate consumption. And box up this _thing_ , will ya?” Dean pointed to the sad, half-eaten burger on Castiel’s plate that was slowly getting cold. It sat next to Cas’s elbow on the table, having been shoved aside to make room for the pie.

Dean turned back to Cas, who was gaping at him over a bite of pie.

“That is…a lot of pie,” he said carefully.

“I’ve got a lot of stomach,” Dean replied. He resettled his gaze on the pie.

“You will, once you eat all that,” Castiel pointed out.

“Oh, it’s not just for me, little ducky, you’re helping,” Dean told him. “We can take turns being the plate.”

Cas sputtered a little and nearly choked on his pie.

“P-please don’t say things like that in public,” he pleaded.

The waiter set down two more pieces in front of them, grinned, and then walked away. Dean watched him go, wondering if he’d heard them, then turned back to Cas. He slid the blueberry over to the man opposite him and the strawberry toward his side.

“Help me eat this, and maybe I’ll think about it,” he flirted.

Castiel rolled his eyes and made a frustrated nose. But it was pie, so it was rather hard to say no, especially when it was slightly warm like this, just out of the oven, sweet vanilla cream slowly melting on top…

Castiel knew he was done for the moment he abandoned his strawberry pie in lieu of a bite of blueberry. This was it. Dean had completely ruined him for normal food going forward.

Dean was practically moaning into his strawberry cream from across the table.

“Oh. My. _Gooodd,_ ” Dean wailed. He smacked his mouth around the sweet delight on his tongue. “I take it back. This is better than sex. Better than anything.”

Cas merely snorted into his pie and shoved another bite into his mouth, grinning at Dean from around his fork. He would change his tune later on that night, Castiel was sure.

Castiel somehow convinced him not to buy the two full pies. Dean pouted a little, but secretly agreed it was for the better. No matter how many calories they were burning these days doing the horizontal tango, pie was dangerous.

They started down the street back to the office, walking close together in the bright autumn afternoon. Castiel hummed next to him, mood uplifted by the food and Dean’s own lightheartedness.

As he stepped off the curb to cross the street, Dean saw a streak of black in the corner of his eye. The sound of squealing tires filled the air—

“ _CAS!!”_

Dean reached out, grabbing Castiel’s shoulder in an attempt to pull him back onto the sidewalk, away from the swerving SUV, but he was too late—

Castiel started to turn, to smile at him, and then time slowed to a halt.

The SUV veered sharply toward the curb, clipping him in the side. Castiel’s body was thrown into the air, one shoe flying off and bouncing against the tinted windshield of the vehicle. Momentum and force twirled him around in the air before gravity dragged him mercilessly down to the pavement a moment later. It felt like an eternity to Dean. Then Castiel’s forehead slammed against the edge of the curb, body falling to the side of the road limp, limbs skewed out to his sides like a rag-doll, and time sped up again.

“ _Cas!!_ No, no, no, _NO_!” Dean cried, rushing to his side.

He rolled Castiel over onto his back. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t _breathing._

A group of people was starting to gather around them, witnesses to the accident. Dean looked up with tears in his eyes.

“Somebody call an ambulance!” he cried.

A girl in a maroon school uniform and a beret whipped out her phone and quickly dialed 911.

“Hello? There’s been an accident. Corner of 5th and 61st street…”

Dean listened to her voice telling emergency services what had happened, ears buzzing with static to where it all sounded garbled like a bad cell connection. He cradled Castiel’s face in his hands.

“Cas. Cas, say something, please. _Please,_ ” he pleaded. Dean pressed his lips against Castiel’s unmoving ones. He let out a strangled sound and let his forehead drop to Cas’s cheek. “Oh God…” For a moment he couldn’t breathe, just let out a racking sob into the side of Castiel’s still face. “I can’t do this without you, Cas,” Dean rasped, holding him closer. “I don’t want to do this without you. Please, Cas, I need you.”

“He needs CPR!” A sharp voice cut through the shock. Dean felt a rough shove at his shoulder and looked up to see a short Asian girl with thick glasses. She was wearing the same school uniform as her friend.

“I don’t know how,” Dean croaked up at her, his eyes wide.

“Does anyone here know CPR?” The girl with the maroon beret yelled. Dean recognized her voice as the one who had called for the ambulance.

“I’m on it,” her friend said, pulling out her cell phone and typing furiously. “Here it is. Tilt the head back, pinch the nose. Make sure the airway is clear, then breathe into the mouth…”

Dean followed her instructions, pumping on Castiel’s chest when she directed and repeating the process when there was no response.

_No response…_

Suddenly there was the sound of sirens wailing. The blare of them increased to near deafening and then cut short abruptly. Then there was the sound of a car door slamming and footsteps slapping across the pavement.

“Move aside!”

Someone pulled Dean back, the paramedics moving in. One placed a mask and a breathing pump over Castiel’s face while the other readied a stretcher. They pulled him onto it with one precise movement and began wheeling him toward the ambulance.

Dean stumbled to his feet, staggering after them. He reached the doors just before they closed.

“I’m coming,” he rasped. He gripped the metal frame of the ambulance door to keep himself upright, his other hand resting heavily on his knee. He swallowed a breath, then hauled himself up into the back of the ambulance.

“Sir, you can’t—” one of the paramedics started to tell him.

Dean rounded on the poor bastard.

“The hell I can’t!” he snapped at the guy. He sat down heavily on the ambulance floor. His eyes avoiding the still body lying atop the stretcher. “Look, forget I’m here and just do your fucking job!”

“Only family is allowed back here,” the other paramedic protested. It was more in rebuke than argument, however, because his partner was already giving the driver the all clear to take off.

“He doesn’t have any family. Not here anyway. I’m his—his—” Dean broke off, not knowing how to finish that sentence. What was Castiel to him? His boyfriend? His lover? Dean shook his head—neither word did it justice in the moment. He gave up trying to finish that sentence and instead bravely turned his eyes to Castiel’s unconscious, unmoving form.

“I-is he going to be alright?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“He’s got a pulse,” the paramedic—the one with an attitude replied. The other shot him a look. “What? Moron didn’t think to check for a pulse before doing CPR?”

“Hey asshat,” Dean shot back at him, “I’m not a fucking paramedic! How about you answer the goddamn question?”

The other paramedic took pity on him and gave him the answer he was looking for.

“We won’t know for sure until we get to the hospital, but I’ve seen a lot worse. He should be okay now that he’s breathing on his own.”

“T-thank God.” Dean’s breath left him in a gust, leaving him with a feeling like someone had just slugged him in the stomach. He pressed a shaky hand to his brow. “I-I don’t even want to think what I would do if—he doesn’t know how much I—” Dean trailed off. He knew he wasn’t making much sense but he couldn’t care about that at the moment. He just knew the relief he was feeling was perhaps the sweetest he’d ever tasted.

A blue-gloved hand settled on his shoulder. Dean looked up to see the nice paramedic.

“You can tell him when he wakes up, okay?”

Dean let out a shuddering breath and blinked the tears out of his eyes.

“Yeah. Right. Thanks…?” Dean looked up at the guy, realizing he didn’t know the guy’s name.

“Cesar,” the paramedic provided.

“Cesar. Thanks.” Dean shifted against the wall of the ambulance. He couldn’t feel his legs. “Cesar, just a heads up but…you might have to wheel me outta this thing when we get there cuz I’m not so sure I can walk.”

“Amateur,” the asshole medic snorted.

“Jesse—” Mark started at him.

“Yeah, _Jesse_ ,” Dean interrupted, “Thought you had a job to do, dickface. Why don’t you get to it, huh?”

“Maybe if I didn’t have so many _distractions_ I could!” Jesse snapped at him. He rolled his eyes. “The rambling romantic. How fucking annoying. _Jesus_.”

As he said it, Jesse’s eyes flickered up to his partner’s, hesitant. Dean caught it, but the other man remained oblivious. He was focused on counting Castiel’s heartbeat, making sure it was steady.

Dean let his head fall back against the wall of the ambulance, letting the sound of sirens lull him away from the shock of the accident. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving him feeling exhausted, like all the blood had drained out of him. It was getting hard to think. The world felt like it was underwater, and when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Castiel’s smiling face before the SUV tossed him up into the air…

“Life’s too short…” Dean murmured to nobody.

They arrived at the hospital within minutes. The doors opened and the paramedics rushed in for the stretcher. Dean hopped down to give them room, legs miraculously deciding to work again.

“Thanks for the ride, guys,” Dean called to the two EMTs, already moving with the stretcher. Something made him stop and turn back briefly. “Oh, uh, Cesar,” Dean said, holding up a finger and pointing at his dick of a partner. “Jesse here has a thing for you, only he’s too much of a little _bitch_ to tell you himself. So. Good luck with that.” He clapped the guy on the shoulder and then followed after the stretcher, feeling just a little bit better. The open goldfish look on Jesse’s face was totally worth it.

The paramedics rolled Castiel into the emergency room, barring Dean back when he tried to follow. As the doors swung shut in front of him, Dean held his hands to his head and drew in a shaky breath, then retreated to the waiting room.

When his brain cells started firing again, Dean dragged out his phone and made a short call to Kevin to let him know what had happened and how to handle the meeting with Mr. Chen. It was already past the time he was supposed to meet with the man, but he couldn’t worry about that at the moment. He trusted Kevin to take care of it. The kid had more than proved his salt over the last week.

Dean was pacing back and forth in the waiting room when his phone rang. He cursed, seeing the name light up on the caller ID. Like he didn’t have enough to worry about right now. He hit the accept button with a tad more force than was needed.

“Dad,” he greeted.

“Where the hell are you!?” John demanded. “Your PA just informed me you _cancelled_ with Mr. Chen!? This isn’t the way we do business, Dean.”

“Dad. Dad! I know. I’m at the hospital.” Dean gulped. “There was an accident. I’m fine, but Cas was injured pretty bad.”

“Which hospital?” John asked.

Dean told him. The line went dead. He stopped in his tracks and stared at the phone in shock. Was his dad coming _here_? Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.

This was not going to end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Oop so... that final shoe finally dropped... I didn't actually _mean_ to use it as a literary device. I remember hearing somewhere that shoes come off in car accidents and I wanted to be authentic. Then I realized...that goddamn shoe means a lot more than just physics and science. It's _foreshadowing_ O__O 
> 
> This chapter is kinda like that point in any Supernatural season where you get a small climax in the middle of the season which _could_ have been a finale but isn't. What I mean to say here people is that this is not the end, merely the like... halfway point. (Also I blew past 150K words this week at 375 pages woo~!)
> 
> Lots of familiar faces in this chapter! Ronald, Marie, May, Jesse, Cesar, Tessa... I think that was it? Originally my EMTs were named something completely different but when I saw the episode with Jesse/Cesar I just had to change it! 
> 
> For the English lyrics to the song Cas sings and more ~~crazy ramblings of this here author~~ awesome bonus content, (plus an announcement about future postings) click [**HERE.**](https://regaime.livejournal.com/70180.html)


	16. Telling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing how just a few short words can change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Announcement:** I don't think this chapter requires a full warning but things do get a little intense between Dean and John. Some homophobic comments and offensive language were needed to remain true to character. That being said, this isn't meant a John-bashing fic, so if that is what you expected then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.

* * *

John arrived within the hour, storming into the waiting room to find his son pacing its length. Dean’s hands were shaking as he looked up at his father, worry lines carved deeply into his face. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from where he had been crying, despite having been informed that Castiel was fine and merely going in for a routine MRI to make sure there wasn’t any internal bleeding.

But that was half an hour ago, and Dean still hadn’t heard back from the doctor. His feet carried him across the waiting room floor as though they were on wings. If there had been anyone else in the waiting room then Dean was sure he would be freaking them the hell out too, and a large part of him was grateful that there was no one here to witness his frayed nerves and obsessive pacing. He would stop if he could, Dean told himself, but he just couldn’t help it. He’d watched enough Dr. Sexy to know that this was the part in every episode where things went horribly wrong—just when you thought everything was hunky dory—and in his worked up state, Dean’s mind wrenched into overdrive that something might happen before he got the chance to tell Cas everything he’d been too much of a coward to say to him before.

So when his father was suddenly there in front of him, Dean stopped his pacing and stood helplessly in the middle of the empty waiting room.

“Dad,” Dean croaked. He knew it was weak of him, but he couldn’t help it. He took two long strides forward and drew his father into a hard embrace. A strangled sound escaped through his lips, despite his best efforts to keep his emotions under control. Dean’s shoulders shook silently as he wrapped his arms around his father and fought against the tears that threatened to make a messy return. The last thing he wanted was to cry in front of his old man.

“I’m glad you’re okay, son,” John said. He pulled back from the hug and grasped Dean by the shoulder. “Dean, what happened?”

Dean sucked in a breath.

“Car accident. Hit and run,” Dean forced out past the lump in his throat, “Cas is still in the MRI. They said he’s fine, but they haven’t come back out yet and—Dad, what if he—?”

“Son, you’re overreacting. I’m sure your friend is fine,” John told him.

“Yeah,” Dean said, gulping down a breath and running a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know. You’re right. I just…sorry. Freaking out a little.”

John frowned then, and Dean braced himself for the lecture that was sure to follow.

“I get that you’re shaken up,” John scolded him, “But you’re better than this, Dean. I don’t care what happened, you should have made that meeting.”

“He could have died, Dad,” Dean argued.

“But he didn’t,” John reprimanded, “Man up, son. The family business should come first, no matter what.”

“It’s one stupid meeting,” Dean snapped at him. He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face, then held it out between them. “Look, I sent Kevin over with a bottle of scotch and my personal apologies. It isn’t anything you wouldn’t do. What about when Sammy broke his arm? I seem to remember you canceling all your meetings for a week to be there for him.”

“That’s different, Dean. When you have kids, you’ll understand,” John explained.

“I understand perfectly,” Dean argued. “I needed to be here with my—” Dean broke off just before the incriminating label and ran his hands through his hair again.

“Dean, all you’re doing here is standing around wasting time,” John scolded, raising his voice. He frowned harshly at his son. “I was wrong. Maybe you don’t have what it takes to run this company after all.”

“Dad, listen—” Dean started to say.

“No, Dean, _you_ listen,” John interrupted him, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t seat your ass on the next flight back to California.”

“Because,” Dean said, “Castiel—”

“He’s a grown man and he can manage without you,” John cut in again, “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“If you would just fucking _listen_ to me!” Dean snapped at him, suddenly livid. He turned away from John and buried both of his hands in his hair as he paced the length of the room and back, taking long, measured breaths to try and calm down. It didn’t really work.

Dean turned back to face his father, who waited impatiently for him to justify his reasons for cancelling the meeting with Mr. Chen. But how the hell was Dean supposed to explain to his _dad_ that he wouldn’t have been able to go to the meeting knowing Cas was here by himself? Knowing someone wouldn’t be there to hold his hand so that he didn’t wake up alone and confused and scared?—and besides that Dean was a nervous wreck and could barely think straight, let alone sign a bunch of documents while making sure all the I’s and t’s were dotted and crossed?

“You wanted me to listen?” John said, “Well Dean, I’m listening. What the hell is it with you and this _friend_ anyway?”

Dean dropped his hands to his sides. Once again his father was missing the gravity of the situation because of Dean’s failure to tell him the truth, and suddenly Dean didn’t want to lie to him anymore.

“Because Castiel’s not just my friend. He’s a lot more than that,” Dean said. He took a deep breath to prepare himself for what he was about to say next. “We’re…we’ve been seeing one another.”

John frowned at him and blinked a couple of times, his face hard and unreadable, but Dean knew his dad well enough to know that he had to be considering what Dean said very seriously. Dean stared stubbornly back at him, refusing to look away.

Finally John lowered his eyes and spoke.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” John said, a line of disappointment in his voice, “If this is your excuse for screwing around—” He broke off with a shake of his head.

“I’m not screwing around,” Dean insisted, but his father wasn’t listening.

“Look, I get the thing with Carmen messed you up, and if you want to explore this…this—” Here John gestured in the air with his hand—“ _gay phase_ or whatever it is, then so be it.” The tone in John’s voice changed to one that was hard and angry. He jabbed a finger in Dean’s direction. “But I don’t want it interfering with your work.”

Of all the reactions Dean had expected, this wasn’t one of them.

“It’s not a _phase_ ,” Dean replied in frustration.

“Of course it is,” John said, drawing a hand over his mouth. He seemed suddenly agitated. “You’re confused, Dean. Your friend was there for you during a tough time and now you think…hell, I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter because you’ll meet the right girl and it’ll pass. You’ll see.”

“It won’t,” Dean argued, “Cuz she’s not out there.” He drew in a sharp breath. “She doesn’t exist, dad,” he continued, thrusting his arm out to the side, “It’s Cas. Maybe it’s always been him.” Dean hesitated only slightly before the next part, sucking in another deep breath and going for broke. “I love him, Dad.”

To give his dad credit, he only slightly tripped over the admission.

“Please, Dean, you’re far too young to be in love,” John said gruffly, shaking his head again.

“You were seventeen when you met mom,” Dean pointed out.

“That’s different,” John said.

“It’s not,” Dean shot back at him.

Dean gave his father a steely stare, refusing to back down.

“I mean it, Dad, I care about him.”

“This is crazy, Dean,” John said, running a hand through his hair. He walked away, then paced back to his son. “You can’t expect me to be on board with this—this—” He broke off, unable to find the right word.

Dean growled low in his throat, his anger rising in an instant.

“Why not?” he demanded, “Because it’s disgusting? Because it makes you look bad? Newsflash dad—I don’t give a shit. It’s my life, and I’m done living it according to _your_ rules.”

“Those _rules_ gave you the shirt on your back,” John barked back at him, raising his voice and jabbing a finger at his son, “And a roof over your head, so don’t you dare—”

“Then you can have them back!!” Dean yelled at him, “Take the shirt, take the loft—hell, take _Baby_.” Dean gripped his own t-shirt in his fist to demonstrate his conviction. “Take it all, I don’t care! I’ll choose him over any of it—including the family business— _every_ time!”

“Why you ungrateful little—” John’s voice was like ice. He grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt, dragging his son’s face in close to his. He drew back his fist, and as it hung frozen in the air between them, Dean could see his father fighting to control his rage in the hard set of his eyes.

“Do it,” Dean spat at him. His voice shook in a maelstrom of emotions, with anger topping the list. He’d expected this reaction from his father, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. “Go on,” he egged, “Hit your faggot son. Mom would be _so_ proud.”

John let him go as though he had been burned. Dean stumbled back but managed to keep his footing. He swiped a hand across his nose and straightened to his full height.

“I didn’t tell you looking for your fucking approval,” Dean said, his voice cutting in his anger, “I told you ‘cuz I love him and I almost lost him today and I’m done lying about it.”

“I gave you a chance,” John said, his voice low and shaking. His chest heaved as he pointed an accusing finger at his son. “Hell, I gave you a hundred chances, and this is how you repay me?”

“My life, Dad,” Dean shot back, “I don’t need any of it. I just need him.”

“I should cut you off and throw you out on your ass,” John threatened, “You won’t be so cocky without all your fancy credit cards.”

“Go ahead,” Dean dared him, “Prove me right. But don’t expect me to come crawling back looking for your forgiveness because it won’t fucking happen.”

“You don’t think I won’t do it?” John growled at him, advancing closer.

“I think you’re afraid to find out,” Dean shot back, “I think you know if I walk out that door, I’m not coming back.”

His father was silent for a long time, his jaw clenching as Dean’s words soaked in. Then he took a measured breath in and out, finally gaining control over his temper. Dean felt like he had won an inch of ground between them and relaxed just a little.

“How long?” John demanded in a gruff voice. He didn’t need to say any more than that. It was clear what he meant.

“A few weeks now,” Dean replied, just as gruffly. John opened his mouth to say more but Dean held up a hand to silence him. “I know what you’re going to say—you’re going to tell me that I can’t possibly be in love after knowing someone for that short of a time. And I get it, I do. But you told me and Sammy when you met Mom that you knew right away. Well…it’s the same with Cas. This isn’t just some fling, Dad, it’s a lot more than that.” Dean took a deep breath and went for his ace in the hole. “Hell, I wouldn’t even be telling you about him if it wasn’t.”

His last comment seemed to make some small dent in John Winchester’s iron-clad denial. He finally seemed to recognize the truth of what his son was trying to tell him. This time when he looked at Dean, reading the stubborn set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes, he saw something different.

“Okay,” John said, letting out a rough sigh. His shoulders drooped in resignation. “So it’s serious.”

Dean relaxed a little more, the tension easing out of him now that the hardest part was over.

A couple things occurred to John just then.

“The Halloween Party…” John started to say, passing a hand over his face. His brow furrowed as he thought back to that night. Dean knew he was seeing things in a completely new light. “What was that whole drama with Carmen? Don’t tell me you were seeing both of them.”

“Carmen and I were never a thing,” Dean confessed. He swallowed hard. “Look, I’m sorry about that. You asked for a name and…what can I say? I panicked.”

John just thought all that over, his brow furrowing deeper.

“That was all a lie?” At Dean’s nod, he continued. “And wanting to run the New York branch? Moving here? All of that was for… _him_?”

John tripped over the pronoun, but honestly the fact he hadn’t made good on his threat to throw Dean out on the streets? He would take it.

Dean sucked in a breath.

“Not just for him. I wanted…I don’t know, maybe to grow up a little, or to prove to you and to myself that I wasn’t just some dumb party animal. That I could be responsible and make it on my own.”

John’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. He seemed honestly impressed by his son’s answer.

“Then I have _him_ to thank for this new, sensible version of you?” he clarified, “Not Carmen?”

“I guess,” Dean admitted, giving his Dad a small, self-conscious smile.

“And you’re…gay?” John said, frowning. He shook his head as a bitter note slipped into his voice. “You sure played me the fool. All the times you brought women home you had me thinking…”

“Not gay. Bi,” Dean corrected, “I wasn’t lying to you. Not really. Just not telling you the whole truth.” Dean looked down and scuffed his shoe against the gray linoleum floor. “Mom knew,” he muttered. “Sammy knows.”

John was quiet for a long minute, jaw tightening under his clenched teeth.

“I should have told you sooner,” Dean mumbled. It was as close to an apology that he was going to get.

John sighed and shook his head in defeat.

“I wouldn’t have listened,” he admitted, “Before your mother passed…” John shook his head again and rested his hands on his hips. “Hell, maybe I’ve changed since then. Your mother, before she died...” John’s gaze slid over to meet Dean’s eyes. “She made me promise not to push you away. Said no matter what you did, whatever man you became… I was to support it. Goddamn strange at the time, but she insisted.”

“Mom said that?” Dean asked. His mouth sagged open in shock.

John nodded.

“Mary believed you had the potential to become a great man, but she told me you had to find it on your own—that I couldn’t force you into it or it would never happen. She was…right, as always,” John finished.

“Yeah, that’s mom,” Dean replied, letting out a wry chuckle. His brow knitted together. “So…when I dropped out of college and you gave me free reign to dick around…that was all for her?”

“It was for you,” John corrected, “But yes, I was following her dying wish. Didn’t have much choice, did I? You don’t break promises with the dead.”

Dean shook his head. He knew what that was like. He felt his eyes tear up a little.

“Shit,” he said, swiping at them. His eyes flickered back to his dad, embarrassed to be crying in front of him. He was surprised to find wetness in the older man’s eyes too.

“Your mother always hated it when we fought,” John said with a line of regret. He let out a harsh sigh. “Come here,” he said, motioning with his hand. He pulled Dean into a hard embrace. Dean gasped, a choking sob escaping from his tightly bound will.

“Dad—” he started to say, but his words got lost in his throat.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, son,” John said. He pulled away from the embrace but kept his grip on Dean’s shoulder. “There’s no excuse for it. I just about broke my promise with your mother and look what happened.” He gave Dean’s shoulder a little shake and peered at him intently. “I’m proud of you, Dean. I want you to know that. And if you love this man, then…” Here John let out a heavy sigh. “Guess I just have to learn to accept that.”

Dean stared at his old man blankly, lost for words. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

It was then that the nurse popped her head into the waiting room.

“Mr. Winchester? Your friend is awake. He’s asking for you.”

Dean turned to her and started forward, then froze and looked to his dad.

“Go on,” John said, “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Dean said, the much-used phrase slipping easily from his lips. He hurried after the nurse, leaving his father in the waiting room.

John stared after his son for a long minute, then shook his head and followed.

“Dean.”

Dean froze in the doorway at the sound of that voice, his heart pounding double-time in his chest all of a sudden. Not just because he had been worried—though that was a big part of it—but also because of what he had just admitted to his dad and to himself.

“Cas.”

Dean was through the hospital room door and by Castiel’s bedside in an instant. Cas was sitting up in bed, a green-and-white-patterned hospital gown hanging loose around his shoulders and a couple of tubes hooked up to the back of his hand. There was a strip of medical tape at his forehead where the doctors had stitched up his cut and a thick cast on his right hand.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked. His eyes flitted to the bandage on Cas’s head. He raised his hand as if to touch it but froze halfway.

“I’m okay,” Castiel assured him, “They gave me something.” He offered Dean a smile. “My head feels a little cloudy but other than that I feel fine.”

Dean let out a nervous little laugh. “You’re all looped up on pain meds, you mean.”

The smile on Castiel’s face widened considerably.

“Perhaps a little.”

Dean sucked in a breath, then let it out slow. Probably not a good idea to tell Cas the news when he was all drugged up like this. It could wait. Dean could wait to tell him when the time was right—about his father, and about how he felt.

“The nurse said you have a concussion and a few bruised ribs,” Dean said instead, “Most of it is pretty minor, except for the wrist. Compound fracture, so it’s gonna take a while to heal.”

“I was lucky,” Castiel said. His brow pinched together. “If you hadn’t pulled me back when you did—”

“I couldn’t reach you in time,” Dean said. All the guilt and worry he was feeling underneath everything was suddenly naked on his face. “Cas—”

“It wasn’t your fault, Dean,” Cas told him.

“I know,” Dean replied thickly. And he did. He _did_. He swallowed hard. “I still feel responsible.”

Cas flopped a hand over the one Dean had resting on the side of the bed and gave it an exaggerated pat.

“My hero,” he said, grinning up at him.

Dean was pretty sure that was the pain meds talking, and said so. Castiel started to laugh, then immediately stopped because it hurt to do so.

There was a heavy beat of silence following the clear, bell-like ring of his voice.

_Alive_. Dean thought. It could have been a lot worse. Like with Mom.

He was leaning in to press his lips to Castiel’s mouth before the thought even registered. Cas’s hand came up to hold the side of his face as Dean kissed him, pushing all his worry, all his guilt, and all his love into the small space between them. He pulled back with a sigh of relief, green eyes flickering up to meet deep cerulean blue. They were about the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen in that moment.

He lowered his lips down again, kissing him slowly.

Dean thought he saw a dark head duck out of the doorway in his peripheral when he moved away, but by the time he made it to the door, the hallway was empty.

* * *

Now that Castiel was awake and doing better, he was being discharged. The nurse pulled Dean aside and handed him a detailed list of instructions as well as a bottle of painkillers.

“There’s some swelling in his frontal lobe. It isn’t bad, but he’ll have to be woken every couple hours just to be safe.” The nurse pointed to the pills. “He can take one of those every 4 to 6 hours for the first couple days, then once every 8 hours following. No more than 6 per day. We don’t want him getting hooked.” She looked down at his chart. “He’s got a compound fracture in his wrist. It set fine, but it’s going to take about eight weeks to heal. The ribs were merely bruised, but they will be painful for a couple of weeks. He should get lots of rest and eat lots of healthy nutritious foods to help speed up the healing process. Hot baths and gentle massaging will also help. Throw some Epsom salt into the bath water—it will help with the bruising.”

“Thanks,” Dean told her, eyes flitting over the name pinned to her scrubs. “Tessa.”

Tessa smiled at him.

“Take good care of him,” she said.

“Oh I will, sweetheart,” Dean told her with a toothy grin, “You don’t need to worry about that. I bet there’s some awesome Chinese herbs that’ll help him out. I know a place. And I got a kick _ass_ Jacuzzi so… yeah, he’s in good hands.”

Tessa smirked at him.

“Look who’s vying for boyfriend of the year award,” she remarked.

Dean just grinned at her and shrugged, blushing slightly.

“Yeah, well…” He started, running a hand over the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Oh, what the hell. I love ‘im,” he finished.

_God_. It felt great saying that out loud.

Tessa left shortly and returned with a wheel chair, and then left Dean to wheel Cas out to the car waiting for them. He helped Cas get settled and then climbed in after him while the driver stowed the chair in the trunk, helping him to strap on the seatbelt since he was having trouble doing it one handed. Castiel grunted in pain and settled back against the headrest, his eyes fluttering closed. Even just the short trip from the hospital room to the car had taken a lot out of him, and he dozed lightly on the drive back to Dean’s apartment.

It was a good thing Castiel’s apartment was still drying out from the water incident. His things were already waiting for him at Dean’s apartment so there was no need to make an extra stop, and it was an easy matter to wheel him up and help him into bed.

Dean set the timer on his phone to ring when it was time to wake him up, then climbed into bed with Castiel, content to just watch him sleep as he waited for it to be time. After a few minutes he felt his eyes droop closed.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Dean woke Cas for the third or fourth time—Dean soon lost count. It had been a _long_ day, and the routine of the past few hours was starting to blur together in a confused muddle of time broken only by the sound of Dean’s phone alarm.

He let out a mumbled complaint it went off again and sighed into his pillow. Finding the willpower to pull himself up and turn it off took a lot more out of him than he was willing to admit. A large part of him wanted to just say screw it and take their chances, and if it had been his life on the line, Dean probably would have done just that.

But this was _Cas_ , so Dean dragged himself up off the pillow to turn off the alarm and then rolled heavily over to place a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. He shook the man awake, then ran his hand down his back as Castiel snuffed into the pillow and flopped his head over to face Dean.

“Is it that time already?” he murmured sleepily. Dean nodded, then realized Castiel’s eyes were still closed and answered him audibly.

“Yeah, ‘fraid so,” he said apologetically—not for the first or even the last time that night. He felt slightly guilty as Castiel sighed into his pillow and then pushed himself painfully into a sitting position. He was slightly turned toward Dean, affording him a wonderful view of bedhead and rumpled PJs. Dean scooted up into a sitting position himself and reached in for a kiss. “I know this sucks and all, but you’re freakin’ adorable when you’re all sleepy like this,” Dean told him. He grinned softly at Cas, who frowned at him in response.

“I do not _feel_ ‘adorable’,” he replied with half-hearted air quotes. In actuality the gesture was more of a flop of his hands raised into the air, the effort aborted halfway through when Castiel realized he was too tired for such ridiculous antics. He sighed wearily.

“Doesn’t make it not true,” Dean told him, his tone lightly teasing and affectionate. Castiel grunted and he couldn’t help but grin lightly. “You should eat something,” Dean said suddenly, changing the subject. “You skipped dinner and painkillers are never good on an empty stomach.”

“I am not hungry,” Castiel said. “It is the middle of the night and…” He sighed again. “Frankly I am too tired to eat.”

“How about some chicken soup?” Dean suggested, “Come on, Cas, you’ll be starving by morning if you don’t eat something.”

“Very well,” Castiel relented.

Dean grabbed a couple pillows and propped them up for him so that he could sit up comfortably in bed, then padded out to the kitchen.

“No falling asleep,” he told Castiel before doing so.

He received a noncommittal grunt in response but knew Cas would do his best to follow his instructions.

Dean returned a few minutes later with a soup mug full of its intended, which he handed carefully to Cas. Castiel took it in his left hand—the right one obviously useless since it was covered with the cast—and nearly spilt it all over the bed had Dean’s hand not been right there to catch it when it started to tilt. It occurred to Dean then that he was going to have a hard time using the spoon with his hand in a cast, so Dean took the mug back from him and passed Cas the spoon instead in an awkward exchange of kitchenware. Then Dean pulled Cas up against his side and held the soup under his chin while he ate slowly, one tired sip at a time. When Castiel needed a break, Dean set it on the nightstand and just held him against his chest.

The silence drew into long minutes, with Castiel taking careful, shallow breaths to keep from aggravating his bruised ribs.

“Cas?” Dean asked him gently.

“Hmm?” came Cas’s weary answer.

“How’re you feeling?”

Castiel considered that question and then grunted in discomfort.

“The pain is coming back. Is it too soon to take another pill?” he asked.

Dean glanced at the clock on the nightstand and did some quick math in his head.

“You’ve still got another couples hours to go,” he said, sounding apologetic.

Castiel grunted again and shifted against him. Dean tried to pass him the mug again, but he shook his head and pushed it away. Dean took that to mean he was done with it and reached over to set it on the nightstand. He’d eaten almost the entire thing, which was more than Dean had been expecting. He settled back against Cas and looped his arms around his waist, careful of his injuries.

After a beat of silence, Castiel spoke.

“Would it make much of a difference if I took them now?” he asked, referring to the painkillers.

“Probably not,” Dean replied. He drew his arms a little tighter around Cas—not enough where it would jostle him or aggravate his injuries, but enough where it would feel safe and comforting. “But I had something I wanted to tell you before you go getting all loopy again,” he said.

Castiel made a small disgruntled noise that said he’d much rather skip the conversation in lieu of the painkillers.

“Cas, it’s important,” Dean pressed. He licked his lips in preparation. “My dad…he came by the hospital while you were…uh, when the doctors were checking you out and stuff. He wanted to know why I blew off the meeting with Mr. Chen.”

That got Castiel’s attention. He sat up a little and turned his head so that he could see Dean’s face.

“What happened?” he asked, alarmed.

“Nothing bad,” Dean reassured him. He stroked the back of Cas’s hand, swallowing. “I told him about us.”

“You told him.”

Castiel’s voice was a deadpan. Dean wondered if the words were hitting where they were supposed to be hitting.

Dean took a deep breath and continued. “He asked me what I was still doing at the hospital and… I dunno. I couldn’t lie to him anymore. So I told him the truth.”

“Dean…” Castiel trailed off, and honestly Dean couldn’t tell what the man was thinking—he had expected Cas to be happy about the news, but instead he sounded apprehensive.

“He’s okay with it, Cas,” Dean said quickly, “I mean, he was angry at first, but then he… I dunno. It was weird. I was like my mom…” Dean trailed off and gulped, feeling the thickness in his throat at the mere thought of Mary Winchester. He swallowed a second time and tried again. “She said something to him before she died, I guess. She made sure he wouldn’t throw me out on my ass if he found out about me, Cas. She made him promise to support me…no matter what.”

“Your mother did all of that?” Castiel asked in disbelief. Dean nodded against him, hair rasping against the side of Cas’s head.

“Yeah. All these years later and she’s _still_ looking out for me,” Dean said.

“I wish I could have met her,” Castiel said quietly. There was a warm tone to his voice. “And your father? He’s really okay with us being together?”

Dean raised his shoulder in half a shrug.

“Honestly? I have no clue. I doubt he’s a hundred percent okay with it but…seems like he’s doing his best, you know?”

“That is…” Castiel trailed off and sucked in a breath, grimacing when it aggravated his injuries. He let it out slowly, then continued in a low voice. “I never even considered that he could be so…accepting of us.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean laughed breathlessly— _relieved_. “I’m just as surprised as you are.” He paused and drew in a sharp breath. “Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel asked him.

Dean wet his lips. He shifted his weight, readjusting them a little before continuing.

“I’m…I’m glad you’re okay,” Dean said. It wasn’t what he _wanted_ to say, but it was a start. He tried again. “Because…” He licked his lips again. Nervous. “I uh…realized something today,” he said. “Not that—I mean, I’ve known it for a while, just…never really…ahh…had the guts to say it before now?”

Dean bit off his incessant rambling before it could continue further, the nerves jittering under his skin. His heart was thumping so hard against his chest, he wondered if Cas could feel it too.

“Dean, you aren’t making any sense,” Castiel told him. His voice was weary and heavy with fatigue.

Dean relaxed by an inch.

“I know,” he said. He pressed a kiss to Cas’s cheek and entwined their fingers together. “I’m sorry, Cas. I know you’re exhausted but I gotta say this.”

Castiel hummed softly and squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue.

“I am listening.”

Dean paused only briefly to gather up his courage. For once, though, he felt like he didn’t need it. Maybe all the courage he needed was in accepting it himself.

“When you were…when…” Dean tried, he did, but the words got stuck in his throat. The memory of it—of Castiel lying motionless on the cold pavement—bleeding and not breathing—was forever seared behind his eyes. Dean shuddered violently and drew his arms closer around his angel. “I thought I lost you, Cas,” he said quietly.

There was suddenly moisture on his cheek, sticky against the side of Cas’s face. Castiel turned his head abruptly, shifting so that he was sitting sideways on the bed, facing Dean. His forehead pulled together when he realized that Dean was, in fact, _crying._

“Dean,” he said. He reached up a hand to glaze across the tear-trails streaking down his cheeks. “I am alright,” Castiel reassured him.

Dean nodded vigorously.

“I know,” he said. He took a shaky breath. “I know that. That’s not why I—I thought I lost you, Cas, and the only thing I could think was that—that I—”

One more shuddering inhale and then Dean blurted the rest out in a rush.

“The only thing I could think was that I never got the chance to tell you how I feel. I mean, how I _really_ feel about you, Cas. I thought you were gone and I never got to tell you that I—” Another deep inhale and Dean raised his eyes to meet bright, cerulean blue. “—that I love you.”

Dean breathed in again, slower this time. Steadier. He cradled Cas’s face in his hand and pushed their faces together until his lips were close enough to brush against Castiel’s partially-opened mouth.

“I love you, Cas.”

And then, Dean kissed him.

It was a kiss unlike any he’d ever tasted. Yes, there had been firsts before—their first kiss at the opera, the one in the belfry, their first kiss as a couple—even the kiss that afternoon in the hospital, with Dean fully outed to his father. Still, this one felt different somehow. Fresh and brand new and filled with infinite possibilities—as though admitting it to himself and telling Cas had reshaped his entire life. Dean felt _reborn_ by that kiss—in ways he’d never realized were possible.

Castiel’s hand was at the side of his face, holding him close. His lips moved slowly against Dean’s—tired, but sweet and full of feeling.

“Dean,” Castiel said in a low voice when they broke apart, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Hmm?” Dean hummed, nuzzling into his neck. It was warm, and smelled like Castiel mixed with the stale stench of the hospital. Dean shoved the latter aside and focused instead on _his_ scent—that of balsam fir and cloves and the crisp tang of wintergreen. The first two were of his shampoo and body soap, Dean had learned in Castiel’s short time of living with him. The last smell was of his mouthwash. It faded the later in the day it became and was now so faint that Dean had to actively search for it. He breathed in again and felt comforted when he finally found it. “You can tell me anything, Cas, you know that.”

Castiel hummed in response and snuggled closer to him. Dean felt the smile that broke out across Castiel’s face.

“Yes, I know,” he said. Dean felt Cas’s smile grow wider. “The truth is I have known how I feel about you for a while now as well,” Castiel admitted. “I was afraid it was too soon to say anything, and I wasn’t sure…” He trailed off and started again in a completely different place. “The truth is I have loved you since I kissed you in the belfry.”

Dean’s breath froze halfway up his throat. He let out a sputtered laugh and blurted, “Shit,” then laughed again, still breathless. “Jesus, look at us—we’re friggin’ hopeless. We hadn’t even been on a proper date and we were already head-over-heels for each other.”

“Not true. We had a number of… _non_ -dates before that,” Castiel corrected him, “Five, I believe. The first was when you invited me up to your room. Then the Opera House, and the night at the bar with Anna, the next day at church, and feeding the ducks in Central Park…and then the belfry.”

Dean cocked his head. “Wait, why didn’t we count that first one?” he asked.

“Technically I was working,” Castiel replied.

“And the bar?”

“We were fighting.”

“Right. Shit, that’s right.” Dean pressed a hand to his head. “Wow, so much has happened, I guess I forgot I was mad at you that night.”

“I was also…angry,” Castiel admitted, “Though not at you. Not really. I was angry with myself for…liking you despite knowing your track record with other women and…wanting you anyway.”

“Turns out you had nothing to worry about,” Dean said. Another laugh broke free in his bewilderment. Dean dipped his head, blushing. “I think I’ve loved you since…I dunno. Maybe since that first time I saw you. It’s hard to pin down. But I don’t think I realized what it was until you took me to the bell tower. I think… when you kissed me. That’s when I realized it.”

“Then we were the both of us fools,” Castiel said.

He leaned forward, and then there were soft lips pressing against Dean’s cheek. Dean slid a hand behind his neck and pulled him in for a real kiss, moving his lips in a slow caress. 

When he pulled away, Castiel settled back against Dean with a grunt, tensing as the movement aggravated his injuries. He breathed out deliberately, slowly relaxing against Dean’s chest with a weary sigh. Dean glanced at the time again. Nearly an hour had passed.

“Do you want me to get you the next dose of painkillers?” he asked gently.

Castiel was silent for a long minute, breathing in and out in a slow, even rhythm. He had to be in pain, Dean surmised, and exhausted beyond belief, especially since Dean had to keep waking him up. Dean wished he could help more somehow, but didn’t know what else he could do.

“Cas?” he said again, when no response was forthcoming, “You okay?”

An edge of real concern crept into Dean’s voice, like now that he’d told Cas how he felt, the universe was going to snatch his love away from him.

“Yes, Dean, I am fine,” Castiel answered softly. “I was thinking. And no…I don’t think I am ready for the next dose just yet. It will only cloud my mind and make me more tired, and that is the last thing I want right now. I would like to be awake for this. I would like to…experience this moment with you for a while longer.”

He let out a small contented noise, half a sigh and half a hum. His voice when he next spoke was much lower, a rumbling gravel that curled Dean’s toes under the covers and pulled at his navel.

“I will regret it later if I don’t. So, regardless of how much pain I am in right now…I will gladly bear it. I am alive, thanks to you and…now I have a reason to continue living as well,” Castiel said.

“Aww, hell. _Cas,_ ” Dean said emphatically, squeezing him tighter. Not too tight. He was still acutely aware of the man’s injuries. A fat tear slid down the length of his nose. He reached up to swipe it away and ended up smearing it across his upper lip instead. “I was thinking the same thing when you were on the ground—” His breath hitched as new tears spilled free. “—not _breathing_ , and I thought—I just can’t do this without you. You know? Like—like not _can’t_ , that’s not what I mean. I don’t _want_ to do this thing without you. I need you, Cas.” Dean paused and drew a breath. “I love you.”

Castiel hummed again and murmured softly in response, “I love you too, Dean.”

* * *

They made it through the night without incident. There had been no noticeable decline in Castiel’s condition, and having made it to sunrise he was finally allowed to sleep without interruption. Dean was exhausted as well, having spent most of the night awake with him, but there were a number of things that needed his attention before he could crawl back under the covers for all eternity.

His first order of business was to make a number of calls to the contacts in Castiel’s phone, letting everyone who needed to know what happened about the accident—the hotel, the opera house, their mutual friends—Dean drew the line at his family, mostly because he felt that calling them would be overstepping his bounds. There were a number of contacts that Dean realized he’d never heard Castiel mention at all. He figured Cas could call them when he was feeling a little better—a few hours here or there wasn’t going to matter. His next call was to Kevin with a list of things for his PA to pick up and bring over, as well as a set of instructions on how to run the office in his absence. He planned on working from home for at least the next couple of days, and would need to adjust his schedule accordingly.

Once all that was taken care of, Dean tossed his phone aside and crawled back into bed with the intention of staying there until well past noon.

The sound of his phone buzzing woke him up mid-morning. Dean grunted and grabbed it from the nightstand, gazing at it with bleary eyes.

“’Lo?” he answered. His brother’s panicked voice crackled over the receiver.

“Dean! I just heard what happened. Are you alright? How’s Cas?” Sam asked.

“Sammy?” Dean glanced over to Cas, who had stirred slightly at the noise and dropped his voice. “Hang on.” Dean threw back the covers carefully and rolled out of bed. He padded barefoot to the kitchen, phone pinched to his shoulder as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. They felt heavy from the long sleepless night, the lids dry like sandpaper.

“Sorry,” Dean said to his brother, depositing himself onto the kitchen stool with a heavy sigh, “I meant to call but it’s been a long couple days.” Dean passed a hand over his face. “Cas is fine. We’re both fine.”

“Thank god,” Sam breathed in relief.

Dean’s brow pinched together.

“How did you find out anyway?”

“Dad called,” Sam replied. The implication of that hung in the air.

“Oh,” Dean replied.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. A line of buzzing excitement made his voice pitch higher than normal as he continued. “I can’t believe you told him, Dean. This is _huge_ , man.”

Dean laughed with him.

“I know,” he said, “Feels weird. Like, I almost can’t believe it myself. He was actually… _okay_ with it. I mean, he almost clocked me one, but…well, to be fair I was kinda asking for it.” He paused. “How’d he seem to you anyway?” he asked.

“I dunno,” Sam replied. He heard the _fwump_ of fabric and Dean could imagine his little brother shrugging his shoulders. “He seemed…normal.”

“Huh,” Dean said. “Weird.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam agreed.

There was a long beat of silence over the phone.

“Hey, so, I just called to see how you were,” Sam said, breaking it. “I’ve got class in a few.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean’s brow pulled together and he actually was a little bummed that his brother didn’t have more time to chat. “Hey Sammy, I just gotta say…thanks for being there for me, man.”

Sam laughed, and there were the sound of tears in his voice when he spoke next.

“Anytime, Dean, you know that,” he replied. “So…Cas? He’s really okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Dean said, “He’s sleeping. It’ll take him a few weeks to heal up, but…he’s tougher than he looks.”

“Good,” Sam said. He sounded relieved. “Okay well, I’ll let you go. I just wanted to see how you two were doing. I’m glad you’re alright, man.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said.

“Hey,” Sam said, just as he was about to end the call, “Does this mean Cas is coming to Thanksgiving?”

Dean was silent for a beat. He blinked, the implication of that remark sinking all the way in.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I’m just taking things one day at a time here, Sammy. I mean, he’s got his own family don’t forget.”

“Yeah, but...from what you told me, they don’t exactly get along,” Sam pointed out.

“Good point,” Dean replied. He let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, Sammy. I know dad’s being weirdly cool about all this but I’m not sure he’s ready for something like that. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it,” Sam replied. “Take care, man.”

“Sam?”

There was an anxious edge to Dean’s voice which thankfully caught his brother’s attention before he could hang up.

“Yeah, Dean?”

“I told him I love him,” Dean said. He didn’t have to say who—it was obvious. Dean drew a breath and the fluttering in his chest and stomach increased twofold. “And he said it back.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Then a light laugh filtered in over the line.

“Well, good. It’s about time,” Sam replied. “I’m happy for you two, Dean. I mean that.”

“Yeah. I know you do.” Dean grinned, large and wide with his face turned toward the kitchen counter. “Anyway, that was all I had to say,” Dean said. “I’ll see you around, Sammy.”

“Bye, Dean,” Sam replied.

Dean ended the call, dropping the phone to the countertop. He sat at the breakfast bar for a long time, staring out at nothing as he thought over everything Sam had said. Then he decided a shower and breakfast (although it was nearly lunchtime) was in order and got up.

* * *

Castiel woke up mid-day, just as Dean was finishing up with checking his email. He had his laptop balanced on his knees and placed it on the side of the bed when he noticed Castiel starting to stir and leaned over to press a kiss at the base of his neck.

“Hey,” Dean murmured against his skin, “How’d you sleep?”

Castiel hummed into the pillow and stretched his arms out under it, turning his head to look up at Dean from his feathery paradise.

“I feel it would be inappropriate if I said ‘like the dead,’” he joked lightly. Dean laughed nervously and ran a hand through Castiel’s hair, then down the back of his shirt.

“Yeah, probably. How are you feeling?” he asked.

Castiel pushed himself up into a sitting position with a grunt, wincing as the motion aggravated his injuries. Dean grabbed the pillow and stuffed it behind him, adding one of his own in for extra support. Castiel shot him a grateful look and settled back against them with a sigh.

“Sore,” he decided after a minute, “Nothing more painkillers cannot fix.”

“You should eat first,” Dean told him. He grabbed the laptop off the bed and closed it, then swung his legs out over the side of the bed. “I had Kevin drop off some food. I can warm some of it up for you.” He started to get up when Castiel grabbed his arm—or rather, tried to, then remembered the cast on his wrist too late and ended up swiping at Dean’s arm with it instead.

“Dean,” he said. Dean stopped at the slight whine that pitched his voice higher than normal and turned back to face him. Castiel’s fingers wiggled underneath the cast and gestured him closer. “You are forgetting something.”

“Huh?” Dean’s forehead pinched together in confusion, trying to figure out what it was. Castiel dropped his hand and grinned playfully at him, then pointed with the cast to his lips. “Oh,” Dean said, surprised. He laughed. “That.”

He set the laptop down again and crawled halfway onto the bed, leaning over his side of the bed to press a warm kiss on Castiel’s waiting lips. Castiel slid his good hand behind his neck, playing with the short strands of Dean’s dirty-blond hair at its nape. He let out a soft sigh of contentment when Dean pulled back. There was a light smile on Castiel’s lips that mirrored Dean’s own marvelously.

“Love you,” Dean murmured against them. His eyes fluttered closed, and he felt rather than saw Castiel’s smile widen.

“I love you too, Dean,” Castiel replied in a low gravel.

Dean crawled off the bed with a stupid grin plastered across his face, then practically danced down the hallway to the kitchen. He let out a celebratory whoop halfway down the corridor, then bit his bottom lip as he heard Castiel’s breathy laughter—halting because it hurt to do so—echoing from the bedroom.

He hummed in the kitchen as he heated up the takeout. The smile never left his face.

* * *

Dean moved to his home office after lunch so that Castiel could rest up some more. He’d quickly grown sleepy as soon as the warm food had settled in his stomach, and it wasn’t long before his eyelids had started to droop. Dean suspected it would be a couple of days at least before he felt well enough to be up and about, so he was surprised to find Castiel awake and on his phone when he checked in on him a little over an hour later.

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” Dean asked him.

Castiel raised his eyes from the small screen and shot him a look.

“Dean, if you ask me that one more time I will break _your_ wrist,” Castiel threatened. His voice was light, though, which told Dean he was doing just fine.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I worry about you, that’s all.”

“Yes, I know.” Castiel shifted and threw the phone down on the bed, grunting at the pain. “I need a shower. I feel disgusting,” he declared.

“The nurse mentioned you might want to try baths,” Dean told him, “Easier to keep the cast dry that way. And she said it would help with the bruising.” He looked down, slightly embarrassed by all his mother-henning. Really, he hadn’t taken care of anyone other than himself since Sammy was in middle school. “I had Kevin pick up some bath salts. They’re supposed to help.”

Castiel smiled at him. He seemed moved by Dean’s attentiveness.

“A bath sounds lovely,” he said. He blushed lightly and looked down at the bed covers, toying with the edge of the blanket pulled up over his lap. “Thank you for taking care of me, Dean,” he said softly.

Dean felt a bloom of warmth under his chest. A smile broke out across his face unbidden, automatic.

“Anytime, Ducky, you know that,” Dean told him.

He ran the bath water and then helped Cas from the bed to the tub, hands on his hips to steady him. Even with the pills it was still incredibly painful to walk or change position, or even to breathe fully. The short journey between rooms seemed to drain him considerably, so Dean had him sit on the edge of the tub while he helped Cas out of his clothes. Pulling the t-shirt up and over his head was the most painful by far, and Dean made a mental note to find him some button-up PJs to make things easier going forward.

“This isn’t how I wanted to try out the Jacuzzi,” Dean admitted once he’d helped Cas into the tub. He shed his clothes quickly and slipped in after him, pulling Castiel onto his lap. “Guess we gotta keep things pretty PG for the next couple weeks while you heal up.”

“Yes, that could prove…difficult,” Castiel agreed.

Dean snorted.

“What, you don’t think I can go without sex for a few weeks?” he asked, insulted.

“Oh. N-no. I was speaking for myself,” Castiel said, stuttering in his embarrassment. “I have grown accustomed to our…intimate time together,” he said shyly.

“Oh,” Dean said.

Castiel blushed and looked down at their hands entwined under the water.

“I, ah…still have the one good hand,” Castiel said flirtatiously. As he said it, he scooted off Dean’s lap and then ran said hand down Dean’s abs and further between his legs. Dean gasped as his fingers wrapped around him.

“Sh-shit, Cas, are you serious?” he blurted. Dean licked his lips. “Not that I’m complaining but…I don’t want you to overdo yourself.”

“I just have to go very slowly,” Castiel told him seriously, “It hurts when I breathe too deeply. Or move too fast. Or laugh.” He frowned as something suddenly occurred to him. “I won’t be able to sing for at least a couple of weeks,” he said sullenly.

“Man, I’m sorry,” Dean said, “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Castiel started to sigh, then winced and let his breath out slowly instead.

“This will take more getting used to that I originally expected,” he said.

He brought his attention to the hand between Dean’s thighs with renewed determination. After a few awkward tugs, however, it became clear that even this small level of activity was uncomfortable for him. Dean stilled his hand and Castiel reluctantly unwound his fingers and released the still mostly soft line of flesh between his legs.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, a heavy thread of regret in his voice, “Perhaps I was a little over-zealous.” Dean chuckled softly.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he replied, “I wasn’t expecting much.” He paused. “You could always just watch me jerk off.”

Castiel frowned at him.

“That hardly seems fair,” he muttered.

“Way to be a poor sport,” Dean teased, nudging him lightly on the arm.

Castiel made a disgruntled sound. His eyes flickered up to Dean’s a moment later. “Sorry,” he said again.

“I’m not broken up about it, Cas,” Dean told him, “Unlike you seem to be.”

Castiel merely grunted and sank deeper into the warm water.

“This is going to be a long two weeks,” he declared.

Dean responded by pressing his lips to Castiel’s steam-moistened neck. He trailed slow, careful kisses from behind his ear to his jaw, sucking slightly every now and then, but nothing stimulating enough to peak his arousal past mildly turned-on. In fact, his careful administrations seemed to be having the opposite effect, and Castiel hummed in contentment at regular intervals, melting against his bath-warmed body as he sank deeper and deeper into the water. Castiel in turn drew small patterns up and over the hill of Dean’s thigh, sending shivers of pleasure up Dean’s spine and down between his legs. Long minutes ticked by in the heated cocoon of water, the both of them riding that hazy edge of arousal that left them half-soft yet blissed out and flushed in the steam-filled room.

By the time they finally emerged from the bath, Dean was sure he’d never felt so well-fucked without ever _fucking_ in his life.

Another lengthy nap following their shared bath found Castiel awake and perkier than he’d been all day. They ordered in some food and Dean brought out a deck of cards when Castiel expressed the desire to do something other than watch TV, discussing logistics in between hands. Dean relayed to Cas his conversation that morning with Uriel, who had some forms for him to sign for medical leave since he wouldn’t be able to work until his wrist healed completely.

Dean had just gotten up to make him some tea. Castiel decided after a few minutes that he would very much like to stretch his legs and so made his way slowly to the kitchen in a pair of flannel pajamas that Dean had found for him in the bottom of his closet. The shirt was baggy over his shoulders and the pants loose around his hips, but they were so soft and comfortable that Castiel really didn’t mind. That, and the reality that he was wearing Dean’s clothes and _staying in his apartment_ brought a light blush to his face every single time he remembered. The thought was always immediately followed by _and he loves me_.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts of domestic bliss and the faint smell of Dean coming off the soft fabric of his borrowed PJs that Castiel didn’t register the low murmur of voices coming from the foyer.

“Dean, is the tea ready…?”

Castiel trailed off when he cleared the hallway and found Dean leaning against the breakfast bar, his back to Castiel. The mug of tea sat on its counter, the heat rising off of it in tiny tendrils of steam. He was speaking to someone, but they were blocked from his view. That is, until Dean turned around and his view was no longer blocked. 

John Winchester stood awkwardly in the entryway next to the breakfast bar. Castiel’s blue eyes widened considerably, and suddenly the fact that he was wearing Dean’s pajamas felt more than a little incriminating.

“I ah…didn’t realize we had company,” Castiel said awkwardly.

“I just came by to drop something off,” John said quickly. He paused and then offered a polite, “Good to see you’re doing better.”

“Dad brought by some reading materials for ya,” Dean announced. He was fully turned toward Cas now, who still stood awkwardly in the juncture between the hallway and the kitchen. Dean held up a stack of magazines for him to see and then gestured to the cardboard box sitting on the breakfast bar. “And he brought us _pie_ ,” he added with an enthusiastic grin.

It was the book on the counter that drew Castiel’s attention, however. Castiel took the last couple steps into the room and picked it up from under the stack of magazines that Dean had dropped over it. His eyes ran over the cover, which depicted an image of a wrench growing out of some kind of plant.

“ _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_?” he read aloud, looking up at Dean’s father.

John shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he seemed rather uncomfortable.

“It was Dean’s favorite growing up,” he supplied, “I thought you might like it.”

“Is that so?” Castiel glanced to Dean, who flushed a little at the calculating look Cas was shooting him.

“Hey, I read,” Dean said defensively.

Castiel smiled secretly to himself and set the book down. He turned back to John with a light blush across the bridge of his nose, embarrassed that the man was there listening to what was usually private flirting between them.

“Ahh, thank you, Mr. Winchester. It was…very kind of you to think of me,” Castiel said awkwardly. He hesitated briefly before asking, “Would you like to stay for dessert?”

“Please, call me John,” John replied quickly, hesitating, “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your evening.”

Castiel’s eyes flickered to Dean. His face was carefully arranged, but Castiel was used to his micro-expressions by now. The tightness around the edges of his mouth told Castiel that he was disappointed by his father’s refusal.

“It would not be an imposition at all,” Castiel assured the elder Winchester. He drew his shoulders back, straightening to his full height and continued with more confidence. “Dean has been teaching me how to play poker, but it is difficult to learn with only two people.”

“Come on, dad, at least stay for a drink,” Dean pressed.

“Well, alright. One drink.” The older man grinned. “I’m a hell of a lot better at Texas Hold’em than Dean is by a long shot,” he told Cas in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Castiel smiled and watched Dean carefully out of the corner of his eye before responding in a teasing tone, “Yes, well…perhaps when he isn’t cheating.”

“I wasn’t _cheating_!” Dean blurted.

“Sometimes that’s the only way to win, right son?” John said humorously, knocking Dean on the arm.

“I don’t cheat!” Dean insisted.

The sound of laughter soon filled the dining room, where the three of them sat at one end of the long wooden table playing cards. There was a pile of chips in front of Castiel, who despite his honest nature had a great poker face and a propensity for counting cards (eidetic memory and all that). Dean was grumbling about his crappy hand again, and reached for the quickly dwindling decanter of whiskey in the middle of the table for the second time that game alone. He filled his glass back up, took a sip, and then folded with a heavy sigh.

“Perhaps we should switch to Old Maid,” Dean grumbled, “Or Go Fish.”

“But I am winning,” Castiel said with a slight pout. His lips upturned slightly as he tossed a few more chips on the pile and glanced sideways at Dean. “Now who is being a poor sport?” he teased.

Dean stared at him with a bright blush to his face that had absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Th-that’s completely different!” he blurted.

John’s eyes darted between them a little uncomfortably. The older man shook his head.

“I don’t want to know,” he said, also folding.

Castiel swept the chips in the middle of the table into his pile. He tried not to look too smug about it.

Three games later Castiel was losing, but that was because he was visibly falling asleep in his chair. Dean placed a hand over his when he failed to notice for the third time that game that it was his turn to bet. Castiel looked up and played, but when it happened a fourth time, Dean folded his cards with an exaggerated yawn and leaned back in his chair.

“I think it’s time we called it,” he announced, “I’m beat.”

Castiel looked up and caught his eyes. Dean didn’t look tired at all, and it was barely nine besides. He seemed to realize the charade was for his benefit and frowned slightly.

“I’m sorry, it has been a long day,” Castiel apologized, “You were winning that time too.”

John cleared his throat when the moment between them lingered.

“I should get going anyway,” the older Winchester declared, rising to his feet and downing the rest of his drink. “Need to get to the office early in the morning, take care of a few things.”

Dean looked back at him in sudden concern and pushed up from the table.

“There wasn’t anything I missed was there?” Dean asked him, “I told Kevin to send over anything that needed my attention.”

“Relax, son, it’s nothing important.” John’s eyes shifted to Castiel, who still sat at the table. Standing for too long and moving positions in general aggravated his injuries, a fact that the older Winchester had not failed to notice in the brief time they’d all spent together. His attention moved back to his son. “Take the week, work from home. I’ll let you know if I need you to come in to the office for anything.”

“’Kay,” Dean replied. He licked his lips. “Thanks.”

John grunted, seeming uncomfortable by all the emotion being tossed around the dining room.

“Take care of yourself, Cas,” John said in farewell, holding up his hand.

Castiel nodded at him in return.

“I will. Thank you again for the book and the magazines.”

Dean walked John to the door, following silently behind his old man with his eyes glued to the hardwood floor under his feet. He chewed the inside of his lip, a million things on his mind but no way of knowing how to express them all.

John stopped with his hand on the door and turned back to him, avoiding eye contact.

“He’s an interesting young man,” John said, his voice low. He was silent for a beat. Dean held his breath, waiting to see what he would say next. “I can see why you like him.”

“Uh…” Dean swallowed, at a loss as to what to say to that. “Th-thanks.”

John nodded and opened the door.

“Maybe I’ll come by to visit again sometime,” he said, turning back briefly. He left with a, “Good night, son.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Dean replied, confused. From the tone of his father’s voice he couldn’t figure out if he meant Dean or Castiel, or both of them. Technically it was still his apartment and Cas was only here temporarily, but something about the way John said it made it sound like it was more than that. “You too,” he added belatedly, but his father was already halfway down the hall and must not have heard him because he didn’t look back.

* * *

Early the next morning, Dean slipped quietly out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen. He’d caught sight of the date the previous night on his phone, and after realizing the occasion, decided that something special was in order. That was what found Dean up at the crack of dawn mixing up a batch of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. All of these he put on a large breakfast tray along with a carafe of coffee and a couple mugs, and carried it down the hall into the bedroom.

Castiel was still an amorphous lump under the covers when Dean nudged the door open with his foot. He set the overladen breakfast tray down gently on the nightstand and slid back into bed for the purpose of waking up his sleeping boyfriend.

Dean slid his arms around Cas and pressed a slow, warm kiss to the crook of his neck, drawing the man back against him so that they were spooned loosely together on the bed. Castiel let out a low grumbling noise and glanced back at Dean with eyes heavily slatted against the sunshine filtering in through the windows.

“Dnn lmmo. Slpppnn.” Dean could just barely understand the heavy mumble. _Dean, let me go. I’m sleeping._

“I made breakfast,” Dean said softly in his ear, “And there’s coffee.”

The answering mumble _almost_ sounded like “Coffee?” but it was missing a few vowels.

Dean grinned. Of course Cas would react to the idea of coffee first. Dean bit down on the rim of his ear playfully.

“And eggs, and bacon, and pancakes,” he divulged.

Castiel shifted and Dean moved back so that he could carefully roll onto his back and push into a seated position. Dean helped, a hand at his back and pillows at the ready to sink back into.

“You’re getting good at that,” Castiel noted, sighing back against them. He reached out and gestured with his hands for the coffee, despite the right being for the most part useless. Dean chuckled and poured him a cup, adding the right amount of milk and honey (yes, Cas preferred _honey_ in his coffee over sugar, which Dean learned after Castiel had asked shyly for it the morning following their third or fourth night together. That was also the morning Dean learned Cas had a thing for bees). Dean passed it to Castiel when it was ready, who took a sip and then leaned back against the pillows with a contented sigh.

“Thank you, Dean. This is lovely,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, well…today’s a special day, so I figured…” Dean trailed off again and rubbed the back of his head. “I dunno, I felt like celebratin’, I guess.”

Castiel’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. His head tilted slightly and he squinted at Dean.

“What occasion?” he asked. 

Dean smiled shyly.

“One month ago today was the day you walked into my life,” Dean said. His voice was low and filled with affection. “One look at you, Cas,” he said, looking at his boyfriend with loving awe, “and my whole life changed.”

Dean’s eyes were bright, excited. If this is what he could expect in a month, then what about two, or three, or even longer? Years down the road? What would his life look like then? He could hardly wait to find out.

Castiel cast his eyes low, staring down into his coffee mug. An easy smile stretched across his face and a light pink tint prickled at his cheeks. He seemed to be trying to hide it behind the crockery.

“I didn’t realize it had been that long already,” Castiel murmured. He thought back to his life of a month ago, and all of the things that had happened since and came to a decision. “I think I have lived more in the past month than I have in the entire eight years I’ve been in this city,” he said, “Thanks to you.”

He looked up at Dean from under his eyelashes, his eyes bashful and immensely fond. The words they had said to one another liberally the last couple days weren’t necessary in that moment, but he said them anyway.

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean grabbed the mug from him and pushed warmed lips—bitter from the taste of coffee—up against Castiel’s slightly opened mouth. Castiel caught them and brought his hand up to the back of Dean’s head to draw him in closer, dragging lips and tongue in a languid exchange.

Dean pulled back abruptly at the sensation of hot coffee dripping into his lap.

“Shit!” he cursed, righting the mug—which had begun to tip precariously—and surveying the damage. There was a large coffee-colored stain right over the front of his lounge pants that made it look like he’d wet himself. Dean set the mug down and grabbed a napkin from the tray he’d brought, attempting to wipe up the mess.

“Dean, just take them off,” Castiel said, watching as his boyfriend tried fruitlessly to mop up the mess with the already-soaked napkin, “And forget about the food and the coffee for a minute.”

Dean looked up at that. _Castiel_ forgetting about coffee this early in the morning was entirely out of character.

“Huh?” was his intelligent response.

Castiel chuckled low and tugged at the waistband to his pants.

“Take them off,” he said again.

Dean did so, tossing the soiled bottoms out over the edge of the bed. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath, which Cas must have known. The man moved closer—careful with his healing ribs, and gripped Dean’s hip with his good hand.

“Cas, what—?” Dean started to ask.

“Come here.”

There was a hungry gleam in Castiel’s eyes. He lowered himself down between Dean’s legs with a purpose, mouth reaching for him as soon as Dean eased back into the pillows.

Wet lips around his length soon had Dean crying out in ecstasy. The blow job Castiel gave him was slow, almost lazy in its administrations. Cas would switch and use his hand when he needed to catch his breath, stroking up him in a leisurely, careful manner. The result left Dean feeling like he’d been peaking for hours before finally spilling over the edge.

“Holy shit,” he breathed once he came down. He was a heavy-boned lump against the pillows, head thrown back to gaze up at the ceiling as his breathing returned to normal and he stopped seeing stars.

He looked to Castiel, who was grinning at him with equal measures smugness and wide-eyed innocence. How he managed to combine the two was one of the things Dean would never understand, but attributed it to his unique way of making everything seem natural and pure, even when he was getting down and dirty and still had smears of Dean’s cum spread across his lips.

“Y’know, usually you tip _after_ the meal,” Dean flirted at him, pleased at the light blush and widened grin that comment elicited from his lover.

“Yes, well… I figured in this case it was more appropriate to pay it forward,” Castiel replied, “Although I’m afraid the food might be cold now,” he said with a line of regret.

“Worth it,” Dean said. He leaned in for a short kiss with the intentions of breaking it and rolling out of bed to warm up the food, but then his hand was buried in Castiel’s hair and he was lowering them down to the mattress again.

It took an hour of careful assistance to get Castiel to come—Dean had to keep stopping when his breathing got too excited and occupy him instead with soft kisses and caresses to the rest of him until it evened out again—but when he did, Castiel released with a soft groan, his body relaxed and melted into the pillows much like Dean had been. Dean smiled and kissed him one last time, then grabbed the by-now stone cold breakfast from the bedside table to warm it up.

* * *

When Dean ducked into the bedroom later that morning after a particularly tedious phone conversation with one of his leasing agents, he found Castiel reading the book John had brought over for him. Dean brightened as he stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to see where he was in the book.

“How do you like it so far?” Dean asked.

Castiel closed the paperback but kept his thumb stuck between the pages to hold his place. His blue eyes rose up from the pages to meet bright golden-green.

“It is a good book,” Castiel commented, “I can see why you like it.”

“Yeah, it really got me thinking when I was a kid,” Dean said, “Course, I still prefer cars. No matter what that guy says, takin’ a drive in Baby is about the best thing in the world.” He leaned in and placed a kiss on Castiel’s lips. “We should take a trip, just the two of us,” he suggested when he moved back, “Before the weather turns crappy. Bobby’s friend has this cabin upstate. Middle of nowhere. Little fresh air would do you good.”

“Perhaps when my ribs heal,” Castiel replied, “I am afraid a long car ride would still be far too uncomfortable to enjoy it properly.”

Dean was a little disappointed, if he were honest, but nodded in agreement.

“Fair enough. Maybe after the holidays,” he suggested. Dean paused, hesitating before saying what was really on his mind. “I uh…been meaning to ask what your plans are. Going to see your folks?”

Castiel shook his head.

“No. I haven’t been to see them in years. Since I left home,” he confessed, “I typically volunteer at the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving, but I won’t be able to do that this year.” He held up his right hand, the one with the cast, and frowned pointedly.

“Bummer,” Dean said. Inside, however, he was secretly buzzing with excitement. He looked down at the covers with a blush rising to his cheeks. “We’re going to the family house in Lawrence. My grandparents live just one town over and they aren’t one for travelling so every year we bring Thanksgiving to them. You’re, uh…welcome to tag along. If you want,” he said, struggling with the words. “I mean…uh…”

“Dean,” Castiel said, stopping him. Dean looked up at him timidly. “How long have you been wanting to ask me that?”

“W-what?” Dean blurted, his mouth dropping open. “Uh…w-wh—not that long,” he lied.

Castiel made a “Hmm” noise and squinted at him, not buying it for a second.

“Could it be you’ve been thinking about it since…you told your father about us?” he surmised, “Or before that even?”

“Shut up,” Dean said quickly. He looked away, but the fierce blush across his nose gave him away. “I f-figured it was too soon,” he admitted. He sat back on his heels and fidgeted with the bed covers.

Castiel peered at him curiously.

“What else have you been dying to ask me?” he wondered aloud.

“N-nothing!” Dean blurted. He winced, knowing how that sounded. “Shit. W-whatever. Are you coming or not?” he demanded.

Castiel laughed lightly set the book aside, then placed his hand over the ones Dean was using to strangle the bed sheets.

“I would love to come,” he replied.

Dean sucked in a breath and attempted a smile.

“Awesome,” he said, but there was a hitch to his voice that belied he had more to say.

“Dean…” Castiel started, “What is it?”

“Uh…nothing, just…Ronald called earlier. You know, the maintenance guy?” Dean glanced briefly up at Cas, and then immediately dropped his eyes again. “Your apartment is all set, but uh…I didn’t know if…maybe you wanted to stick around? Just until you’re feeling better. I just—f-figured it would be easier than being on your own, what with the arm and all…”

Dean trailed off and swallowed, the blush overtaking his face and turning it a bright red.

“Anyway, it was just a thought,” he finished.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “Is that what you wanted to ask me? If I would stay here with you?”

“I don’t mean forever!” Dean blurted. He winced. “I mean, I don’t _not_ mean…just, we agreed it’s too soon, right?”

Dean held his breath, hoping Cas would disagree with him. Instead Castiel opened up the book his father had given him and fiddled with its pages as he considered Dean’s proposition for a long minute.

“I do not think now is the appropriate time to make a final decision,” he said at last. His voice was light and kind but rational. “There are too many strange circumstances happening right now to be sure.” He set the book down and reached for Dean’s hand. “But I agree that it makes more sense for me to stay here with you while I am recovering.”

“Yeah…okay,” Dean said. He couldn’t help the line of disappointment that slipped into his voice.

Castiel’s grip on his hand grew tighter.

“No, sorry, that isn’t what I—ah…what I mean is…” His eyes flickered up to Dean’s. “Dean, I do want to stay here with you. But I also want to be sure.”

“I get it, Cas. This all happened really quickly,” Dean said. He shook his head. “The last week has been a fucking whirlwind, so I get it. If it wasn’t for your apartment flooding and the accident you wouldn’t even be here, and…I dunno, maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re rushing this.”

“Or perhaps this necessity is a gift in disguise,” Castiel said softly, “And a sign to move forward.” He drew his brow together in a serious line, still uncertain.

“You could always see how you feel after the cast comes off?” Dean suggested, “And until then you can just think of this as…an extended trial run?”

He didn’t say what he really felt. He didn’t say he had already made up his mind where Cas was concerned.

“The doctor said the cast will be off by Christmas,” Castiel mused. “I suppose we will decide then.” There was a soft smile to his lips, and they twitched when his mouth shaped around the pronoun.

Dean smiled at that, reassured.

“Heh, sounds good to me,” he replied.

He scooted closer to Castiel on the bed, the goofy smile and colorful tint to his cheeks absolutely refusing to go away. And how could it, when Castiel’s words kept reverberating inside of his head?

_We. We will decide._ When had Dean’s life become a _we_ rather than an _I_? The answer came a lot quicker than Dean expected.

One month ago. Clearly.

“Love you, Cas,” Dean said suddenly. He reached over on impulse to land a kiss on the man’s cheek.

Castiel smiled at him, his big blue eyes filled with adoration. He didn’t need to say it back, but he did anyway.

“I love you too, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I promised everything would be okay, right? I hope all the cutesie domestic!Destiel makes up for the horrible cliff hanger from last chapter. Sorry!! I know I'm posting this later than usual too, but I started a new job this week and things have been pretty crazy on top of that. 
> 
> My posting days will probably be on Saturdays or Sundays moving forward to give me time to fully edit chapters before I post. I think I'm still on schedule for the next chapter, so you should all see an update from me next week unless Dean's family is being particularly annoying to write (again) or the turkey decides to explode or...something. Honestly, I sat down to write the other day and suddenly Dean just wanted to have sex I was like, but DEAN I can't spend ANOTHER 20 pages on smut this chapter, I have ACTUAL plot to write!! TT___TT (The struggle is real, my dear, dear readers.)
> 
> Let me tell you though, that opening scene between father and son was a BITCH. I must have rewrote it over a dozen times over the last few months. I *THINK* I'm finally happy with it. -____-
> 
> How did y'all like Wholesome!John? I didn't want to write him as a dick as most do, but it was clear to me that he would never accept Dean without some sort of nudge (large shove) from Mary. Even beyond the grave, that woman kicks ass! 
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think! They really do help stir up the creative juices, and I totally take what people say into consideration when I'm writing. Until next week! ;Dv


	17. Travelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Castiel's first time meeting Dean's entire extended family, and not everyone is as accepting as they had hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning: Homophobic comments.** Sorry everyone, but this one character insisted on being a complete and total asshole. There is much fluffy Destiel sweetness to make up for it as always, I promise. :3

* * *

The weeks to Thanksgiving passed in a slow but steady turn of time with Castiel slowly on the mend and Dean hard at work both with the company and making sure he was taken care of. Their days became punctuated by the small domestic moments between them. Dean had since returned to working at the office, and most nights came back to find Castiel already in bed waiting for him, either reading the book his father had given him or watching something on TV. His knowledge of pop-culture had much improved over the past couple weeks, and he was actually starting to understand some of the references Dean often made.

Before they knew it they were scrambling around at the last minute throwing clothes and goodies together for the trip to Lawrence. Well—Dean was. Cas had been packed for three days. His portion of the suitcase took up significantly less space than Dean, but then he was a bit of a minimalist by nature.

“It is only two days, Dean,” Castiel told him for the fourth time as Dean tried again to pick out a shirt to wear at dinner. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Maybe because this was the first time he was bringing his _significant other_ around to dinner with his entire extended family—both blood and non-blood related—maybe because it was their first major holiday together. He hadn’t decided which freaked him out more.

“I know that,” Dean snapped at him, eyes flickering between the two shirts he hung up in the mirror. He glanced over his shoulder at Castiel. “A little help here?” he asked pathetically.

Castiel snorted in amusement and stepped up behind him, eyes scanning over the shirts in the mirror’s reflection.

“That one,” he said, pointing to the deep barn-red shirt in Dean’s left hand. “I love how you look in red.”

“I love how you look in _nothing_ ,” Dean said, shooting him a coy smile. Castiel met his eyes in the mirror. They twinkled with mischief.

“I do not think your family would appreciate it if were I to wear my birthday suit to dinner,” Castiel replied playfully, “Though it would leave you more room in the suitcase.”

Dean snorted and hung the shirt up on the back of the door for tomorrow morning. The other he folded carefully onto the top of the suitcase, careful not to wrinkle it.

“It’s not that much stuff,” he insisted.

* * *

They caught an early flight Thursday morning, arriving just before noon. It was Castiel’s first time on an airplane, let alone in first class, and Dean wasn’t a fan of flying in general so it was really no wonder when they stumbled off the plane already slightly inebriated from the complimentary champagne. This left John to drive the rental car to their house in Lawrence, suffering the quiet chatter and giggling like schoolgirls coming from the backseat. Dean spent the majority of the ride pointing things out to Cas about where he’d grown up and all the stories and memories that came along with it.

“See that hill? We used to race Go Carts down that hill. Nearly hit a parked car once. And over there is the comic book store where Sammy and I would go on Saturday mornings. Course, when I got older I would skip across the street to the convenience store and look at the…uh, _adult_ magazines.” Dean dropped his voice to a jubilant whisper. “ _No one ever knew_.”

“Oh, you think I didn’t know what you were doing?” John said from the front seat, “I was fourteen once too, son, don’t forget.”

Dean turned a little red at that, and Castiel chuckled.

“What else?” he asked.

“Oh. Uh…over there,” Dean said, pointing, “Rhonda Hurley’s house. She and I uh…heh, I’ll tell you about it later.” Dean grinned shamelessly at Castiel. He leaned in and whispered into his ear. _“Or I could show you_.”

From the front seat, John cleared his throat.

“Ain’t that where you had your first job?” he asked, gesturing to a small garage they were passing on their left.

“Oh yeah, and Mr. Peterson accused me of taking his Camaro out for a joy ride,” Dean said. He turned back to Cas. “Course, he was right,” he confessed, “But apparently I was a convincing enough liar that I got away with it.”

“It sounds like you had a rather…adventurous childhood,” Castiel remarked.

“He was a goddamn terror,” John said, casting a severe look in the rear view mirror, “Most days you nearly drove your mother off a cliff, the things you did.”

“Heh, yeah. Maybe not so much has changed there,” Dean said.

“I don’t know,” Castiel cut in. He slid his hand over Dean’s thigh. “I think you have changed. Quite a bit, in fact.”

Dean seemed a little taken aback by that. He struggled for words for a long beat.

“Come on, Cas you didn’t even know me back then,” Dean insisted.

Castiel hummed and looked out the window.

“Nevertheless,” he said. There was a lilting edge to his voice, and it was unclear if he was saying it to Dean, or to himself.

Before he could ask what he meant, the car suddenly took a sharp turn up a short driveway.

“Here we are,” John announced, putting the rental in park. “Home sweet Kansas.”

“Wait ‘til you see my room,” Dean said excitedly to Cas as he ripped off his seat belt. He grinned and threw open the car door.

Castiel followed at a slower pace, slightly overwhelmed and apprehensive at the prospect of meeting Dean’s entire extended family. Dean started down the walk and then turned back. He shot Cas a smile and waited for him to catch up. When he did, Dean held out his hand.

John was ahead of them, nearly at the door. Castiel noted the way Dean’s father specifically wasn’t looking at them and took the offering, slipping his fingers into the warmth of Dean’s grasp.

“You okay there, Ducky?” Dean asked him softly.

“Ah…yes,” Castiel replied, “I am…a little nervous,” he admitted.

Dean smiled at him warmly.

“No need to sweat,” Dean said. He released Castiel’s hand and instead looped an arm around him, steering Cas toward the front door. “You’re awesome, and my family’s going to love you.” He looked at Cas and smiled. “Just like I do,” he added softly.

They paused briefly in the middle of the walk for Dean to reach over and press his lips to Castiel’s in a short but sweet peck on the mouth.

John was holding the door open for them when they pulled apart, and they hurried up the walk, ducking under the arch of his arm and into the warm, cinnamon-and-apple-pie smell of the Winchester Family Home. The smell of roasting turkey also hit them as soon as they walked in, nearly bowling Dean over with the succulent smell of slow-cooked meat. He turned back to Cas with wide eyes.

“Oh it’s so good to be home,” he said excitedly.

Castiel laughed at the childlike twinkle in his eyes.

“Who’s that?” came a high-pitched call from somewhere within the belly of the house.

“It’s us, gran!” Dean called back. An older, graying-blonde haired woman appeared in the doorway at the end of the hall to greet them.

“Dean!” she greeted, holding open her arms. Dean stooped over her shorter frame to accept the embrace. Deanna stepped back and patted Dean on the cheek. “I swear, every time I see you it’s like you get even more handsome,” she said. Her eyes glanced up and rested on Castiel. “Who’s this?”

“Gran this is Cas,” Dean said. He pulled Castiel closer to introduce him. “He’s my…um, my boyfriend. Cas, this is my Grandmother on my mother’s side, Deanna,” Dean introduced.

“It is very nice to meet you, Deanna,” Castiel said, holding out his hand. He smiled warmly. “From what I have heard your daughter was an amazing woman,” he told her, “I wish I could have met her.”

“Oh. W-well, thank you,” Deanna replied, clearly moved by his words.

“ _Caas_ ,” Dean complained at his boyfriend.

“What, Dean? It is the truth,” Castiel answered him.

Deanna looked between them, not following the private conversation they were having in the middle of the hallway.

“Maybe we can move the Q&A into the living room,” John suggested from behind them.

“I wanna show you my room first,” Dean said quickly to Cas, “This way.” He tugged Castiel up the stairs.

“Did she like me?” Castiel fretted once they were in the privacy of the upstairs hallway. He held his hands to his face, worried. “I can’t tell if she liked me.”

Dean stopped in front of a closed door and turned to him.

“Dude, you’re stressing out about nothing. ‘Course she liked you.” Dean smirked. “Talkin’ about mom like that—hell, I was pretty sure she was going to cry.”

“Oh. I didn’t intend to upset her,” Castiel said. His brow pinched together and Dean laughed.

“Cas, really, I meant that in a good way. You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?” Castiel nodded, so Dean tilted his head toward the door in front of him. “Now. You ready to see something _awesome_?” he asked. One more nod from Cas, and Dean pushed the door open.

What hit Castiel first was hard to pin down. Was it the Led Zeppelin poster on the far wall when one first walked in, or the pinup over the bed of Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey from Dirty Dancing? Or the showcased model car of a familiar ’67 Chevy on the dresser, or the life-sized cardboard cutout of Batman in the corner by the closet? It kind of all hit him at once, to be completely honest.

“What’dya think?” Dean piped up from the doorway, “Awesome right?”

He closed the door and slipped his arms around Castiel from behind, resting his chin on Cas’s shoulder.

“It is most definitely Dean Winchester’s room,” Castiel replied with a turn of his head—to where his cheek was pressed up against Dean’s, along with the rest of him.

Dean hummed and pressed a kiss to the crook of his neck. Castiel breathed out and turned all the way around, drawing Dean in by the ears for a slow, leisured kiss.

“Been wanting to do that since we boarded that damn plane,” Dean murmured when he pulled away. He leaned in again, making up for the lost time.

“We should go downstairs,” Castiel said when he moved back, “We still haven’t said hello to everyone and I don’t want your family’s first impression of me to be wondering over whether we are ‘doing it’”—these he air-quoted—“in your old room.”

Dean threw back his head and laughed heartily at that.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, “Good point.”

They trudged back downstairs with Dean leading the way to the living room. There they found the menfolk seated around the television drinking beer and watching the football game—Bobby, Sam, his dad, and Samuel.

“Oh, come on, you fucking idiot—he was wide open!” Samuel was cursing as they walked in and gesturing angrily at the screen.

Dean grinned and stepped further into the room.

“Who’s winning?” he asked his granddad.

“No one I give a shit about,” Samuel replied gruffly. He realized who he was talking to and then broke out in an excited smile. “Dean! Christ, I swear you’ve gotten taller.”

Samuel got up off the couch and drew Dean in for a hug, then turned to Cas.

“Who’s your friend?” Samuel asked.

Deanna filtered into the room, setting down a large bowl of dip and a platter of various dipping snacks on the coffee table. The resulting clatter made Dean jump and drew Samuel’s attention away from him. It was only for a second, but it was what Dean needed to draw a breath and prepare him for what he was about to say.

“Uh, thing is—Cas is my _boyfriend_ , actually,” Dean struggled to say. He licked his lips and introduced Cas, giving Samuel pretty much the same spiel that he had given his grandmother.

“Cas was it?” Samuel asked. He made no move to take the hand Castiel held out for him and instead glanced at him and then back to Dean. “So what, you’re a fairy now?”

Dean felt like he’d just gotten socked in the stomach. Castiel narrowed his eyes and placed a hand at his back for support.

“W-well no, actually—” Dean started to say.

“Dean is _bisexual,_ Pops.” The correction came from John, who was seated on the couch where Samuel had been sitting just a minute ago.

“Like I’m supposed to know what the hell that means,” Samuel replied.

“Means he likes both, dear,” Deanna explained from behind him, “Men and women.”

Samuel cocked his head at that. “Is that supposed to make it less gay?” he asked.

“Look, it really doesn’t matter,” Dean cut in, holding up a hand, “The important thing is that Cas and I are together. Beyond that, I really don’t care what you think.”

“Well gee, don’t get your panties in a twist, Cowboy. I didn’t mean it like that,” Samuel replied.

“Then how _did_ you mean it?” Castiel spoke up, his jaw ticking in anger. He peered narrow-eyed at Samuel, waiting for a response.

Samuel scoffed into his beer.

“You fags, always making a big deal out of nothing,” he muttered.

 _“Samuel_!” Deanna scolded him.

“I find the language you are using to be extremely offensive,” Castiel said, the edge of his voice sharp and cutting, “The correct term is _homosexual_ in my case, _bisexual_ in Dean’s. Not Fairy. Not Cowboy, Not fag nor any other derogatory nicknames you care to come up with. You don’t have to like mine and Dean’s relationship but you _will_ respect it.”

“Cas is right,” Dean spoke up. He placed his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and drew him in closer to his side, a gesture which did not go unnoticed by his grandfather, if the sneering curl to his upper lip over the mouth of his beer bottle was any indication. “Enough bullshit. It’s Thanksgiving.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Bobby commented.

Sam rose from the chair where he was sitting.

“Who needs more beer?” he announced loudly, abruptly drawing the attention away from them. He looked to Dean and honestly Dean was so relieved he could’ve kissed his little brother. “Dean, want a beer? Bobby? Two—okay, Dad three…Cas?”

The room was immediately engaged in Sam’s overenthusiastic beer run. Dean used the distraction to pull Cas quietly from the room.

“Sorry about that,” Dean said once they were out in the hallway, “Are you okay?”

Castiel blinked at him, thrown off by the question.

“Am I—? Am _I_ okay? Dean, I’m fine. Are _you_ okay?” Castiel asked, bewildered and still a more than a little on edge, “He is your grandfather, not mine.”

“I’m fine, Cas, really,” Dean told him. He gave a halfhearted shrug. “I dunno. It sucks, but…guess now I know where everyone in my family stands about you and me. Honestly, I’d rather have my dad and Bobby and Sam over my granddad any day. So really…I’m okay.”

Castiel’s shoulders drooped, his voice along with them. When he next spoke it was so low that it sounded like a gate swinging open over the entrance to a gravel-line garden path.

“It always hurts.”

“Life does that sometimes,” Dean replied. He shrugged again. “We keep going.”

He stepped forward and framed Castiel’s jaw in his hands, then leaned in to kiss him. 

“Together,” Dean added when he moved back.

Castiel smiled at the affection and the promise of the future that implied.

“Together,” he agreed.

Sam poked his head into the hallway just as they were about to kiss again.

“Hey— _sorry_! Didn’t mean to interrupt…uh, anything,” Sam said awkwardly, “I think the fire’s mostly out in the other room if you want to come in now. Gran basically told Granddad that if he didn’t have anything nice to say then he could ‘keep his goddamn mouth shut’!” Sam recounted. His following laugh was forced. Dean supposed it was because Sam had spent the last few minutes attempting to diffuse another Winchester-Campbell bomb.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said. He gestured his brother closer with his hands. “Come on, stop trying to save the world and say hi, bitch,” he said.

As Sam engulfed his older brother in an enormous hug, he shot the insult back with an easy, automatic response.

“It’s good to see you—jerk!”

Cas looked alarmed at first by all the name calling, then remembered Dean telling him something about the way he and his brother sometimes addressed one another. He was still on edge from Samuel’s offensive words from earlier, and had to remind himself that Sam was a friend and ally. The following laugh, hug, and mutual clap on the back was enough to convince him that it was anything less than an endearing exchange.

Sam turned to Cas when he and Dean pulled away.

“Cas—glad to see you’re doing better, man,” Sam greeted, hugging him fondly, “We were worried about you.”

Castiel returned it with an affectionate, “Sam, it is good to see you.”

“Where’s Jess? Dean asked.

“In the kitchen with the rest of the womenfolk,” Sammy replied with a bit of a smirk.

“That’s where the pie is born,” Dean told Cas excitedly, “Come on!”

He tugged Cas to the opposite side of the house toward the dining room and kitchen. 

The atmosphere in this half of the house was decidedly different from the testosterone-rich football and beer fest happening across the hall. Castiel felt the line of tension in his shoulders relax as soon as he stepped foot into the warm, sugar-and-spice-smelling kitchen. Natural light flooded the old colonial farmhouse-style room, landing on the white wooden cabinets and dust-covered decorative crockery placed over the top of them. Strawberries and sunflowers and chicken designs dotted the small space. There was a cow magnet on the fridge. Half a dozen mason jars with canned cranberry sauce lined one counter, turned upside down to seal. There were a couple of pies cooling on the window sill with tea towels draped over them.

The room was packed with people as well as food. Jo was at the sink washing dishes—she was the only one Castiel recognized other than Jess, who was standing next to a darker haired woman busily discussing something over the cookbook spread out on the kitchen table. From process of elimination, this must be Jody, another good friend of the family. A young girl about sixteen or seventeen leaned against the far wall, watching the two women argue with a slight frown dusting her face. Castiel had no idea who this was—Dean hadn’t mentioned that there would be children at this gathering. An older woman with chestnut brown hair and a stern but warm expression was stirring something at the stove. She must be—

“Ellen!”

Dean’s enthusiastic greeting from behind him snapped Castiel out of his survey of the Winchester family kitchen. The woman at the stove stopped what she was doing and put down her spoon. She beamed at Dean as she stepped over to return the greeting.

“Dean! My, look at you! How long has it been?” Ellen said, scooping him into a tight hug.

Dean hugged her back with an easy chuckle.

“I dunno. A couple of years, at least,” he replied, “The house looks awesome by the way. When did you guys get here?”

Ellen pulled back from the hug and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Tuesday morning. You’d be surprised what a little bit of Pine Sol and elbow grease can do,” Ellen said, holding up her fist and flexing her bicep, “Course, Jo did most of the cleaning. I don’t think I’ve left this kitchen in three days.”

“Well it smells awesome,” Dean said. There was a questioning edge to the flattery in his voice. His eyes darted over to the pie on the windowsill and practically shimmered. Ellen laughed.

“Nice try, Casanova. You touch that pie, I’ll throw _you_ in the oven,” Ellen told him sternly.

Dean’s face immediately fell into a bit of a disappointed pout.

“Can’t knock a man for tryin’,” he said. 

Ellen laughed again at that and turned her attention to Castiel, who had been watching the warm exchange from Dean’s side. Jo dried her hands and walked over with the dish towel to also say hello.

“This must be the new boyfriend,” Ellen said with a quirk of her lips. She drew Castiel closer with a wave of her hands, “Well, come here, sweetheart, let me get a look at you.”

“Jeez, mom, give the guy a break,” Jo said from behind her. She sent Cas an apologetic look. “Sorry, Cas.”

“Oh please, you’d think I was going to eat him alive,” Ellen said. He pulled Castiel closer when he failed to come on his own, then grabbed his chin in her face, turning it to one side. “There we go, sweetheart, look sharp.”

Never had Castiel felt more like a rabbit caught in the wolf’s den than he did under Ellen’s sharp scrutiny. Then it was not one, but two women crowded around him. Jo and Jess thankfully stayed back from the fray, but Ellen and the other woman that Cas didn’t know made for an intimidating pair.

“What’s your name, hon?” Jody asked, leaning in closer.

“Castiel,” Cas replied, leaning away from her scrutinizing gaze.

“This is Jody,” Dean introduced for him—rather unnecessary since Castiel had already figured out who she was, but he appreciated the thought.

“Oh, he’s _adorable_ ,” Jody cooed, “Come here, honey, let me take a look at you.”

“What was it again?” Ellen asked him with a squint.

“Castiel,” Cas repeated. He took a half-step back from the encroaching women.

“ _Cas-T-el_?” Ellen sounded out. At his hesitant nod, she nodded back. “You got a nickname, hon?”

“Cas,” Jess supplied from behind her, “Or Du—”

“Jess!!” Dean practically yelled over her to shut her up, “Jess. Hi. How are you?” Dean asked. An awkward silence hung in the air.

“Um, I’m good, Dean,” Jess replied, shooting Dean a strange look. She seemed to figure out the reason for his interruption from the slightly guilty look on her face. Dean tensed and wondered if she would say anything more but Jess merely turned to Cas and offered him a hug.

“Hey, Cas,” she greeted warmly.

“Hello Jessica,” Castiel replied, “You look very nice.”

She was wearing a periwinkle-colored sweater over a light pastel pink collared shirt and a pair of gray slacks, which brought out the blue in her eyes and the golden sheen to her blonde hair.

“Thanks, Cas, so do you.”

“Oh. Ahh…thank you. Dean picked it out…” Castiel mumbled, slightly embarrassed to admit it. Soft and a deep ocean blue, the sweater Dean had got him for this occasion probably cost more than all of his wardrobe combined, and he felt a little out of place in the luxurious article.

When he looked up, the women in the room all wore matching expressions—small, secret smiles paired with soft-set eyes which shifted from Castiel to Dean.

“Well, are you going to tell us how you both met, or what?” Ellen asked.

Deanna wandered into the kitchen just as she asked it, carrying a load of dirty plates in from the other room.

“Dee! You’re just in time. Get over here,” Jody called.

Deanna dropped the dishes in the sink and wiped her hands on a dish towel, stopping within the half circle of women crowded around the new couple.

Dean and Cas shared a look before they began. They’d never formally told their story before, and neither were sure where to start.

“We met at the hotel where I work,” Castiel started. He looked at Dean fondly. “I had my doubts at first, but…”

“He couldn’t say no to this face,” Dean finished for him with a sly grin. He nudged Cas’s shoulder. “Right, Cas?”

“It was not your face I was drawn to,” Castiel murmured, turning a little red.

“So it _was_ my ass,” Dean replied cheekily.

The women in the room all looked to Castiel, who blushed so hard he looked rather like a lobster getting dropped in a boiling pot of water.

“N-n-no, it had nothing to do with anything…physical,” Castiel insisted. He blushed further, dropping his eyes to the tile floor of the kitchen. “I was drawn to your…charm and charisma. Your…light. And your…deep caring for others. It brightens up the entire room when you walk in and…I was like a moth to a flame. I couldn’t stay away.”

He glanced up at Dean, who smiled softly at him, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“You never told me that,” Dean murmured.

“It did not bear mentioning at the time,” Castiel answered quietly.

Jody sighed.

“Damn, I need to find me someone like that,” she mused.

“You _got_ someone like that,” Ellen told her, gesturing towards the living room. “You know, wears a hat, says ‘Idjit’ a lot?”

“What!?” Dean blurted, “Jody, is that true? You and Bobby?”

“It was _one_ date,” Jody insisted, holding out her hand to calm the bull. “Wasn’t even really a date. He came to fix my sink and I made him coffee.”

“Ah. Dean tried to do that for me,” Castiel sniggered. He looked humorously over to Dean and batted his eyelashes. “It was a good thing you were my boyfriend then, because things could have been a lot different.”

Dean laughed a little at that.

“Oh come on, you got sweet digs now that you’re with me,” Dean argued. He grinned widely. “Got a _Jacuzzi_ , got a hot, live-in _boyfriend_ who makes you breakfast in bed and gives you massages and—”

“Woah!! Ho, ho, ho, that’s enough. I do _not_ need to hear any more about _that_!!” Jody exclaimed, holding up her hand.

“So, Cas, you were saying?” Ellen encouraged, driving them back on track.

“Ahh, well…Dean broke my apartment, which is how I ended up staying with him. And then the accident happened and now it’s Thanksgiving and I’m here with you all,” Castiel finished.

“Oh, is that all?” Ellen said in a teasing manner, just as Jody asked, “What accident?”

That required another explanation, as well as Dean insisting that it was the old pipes in Cas’s apartment that were the problem, not his handy man skills.

“I’m sure it’s the handy man skills that keep you around, right Cas?” Ellen joked, nudging him with her elbow. Castiel blushed fiercely at her off-color sense of humor.

“Hey, it’s not like it happened overnight,” Dean cut in, “I was convinced it wasn’t going to work at first. I kept trying and…well, screwing things up.”

“I knew,” Jo chimed in from behind them. Dean glanced over to see her leaning with her elbow on the counter, smiling over the top of the hand on which she was resting her chin. “When I saw you two at the bar,’ Jo continued, “Dean insisted they were ‘just friends’. ‘Course it was obvious to anyone who cared to look that there was something there.”

“You should be thanking Jo,” Castiel told Dean, “If it wasn’t for her, I am not sure I would have agreed to go out with you.”

“What? What do you mean?” Dean asked him.

The other women listened closely, leaning in to hear all the juicy details.

“It was your friendship with Jo which showed me the real you. Up until that point I had only your word and the tabloid articles to go off, but you seemed so unhappy with the part of you who played into that role that I…decided to give you another chance.”

“Huh, shit. And here I thought it was my sexy dance moves,” Dean joked, but there was a thickness in his voice that belied just how moved he was by Castiel’s words.

“If you mean the way you were peacocking around like a five-year-old—” Castiel began.

“Hey, you liked it. Don’t even try to deny it,” Dean interrupted. He flashed Cas a shameless grin and pulled a choice move, feeling gratified when Castiel blushed and looked away, embarrassed.

“Dean, please,” Castiel pleaded softly. Dean took pity on him and looped an arm around Cas’s waist, drawing him into his side.

“Anyway, the rest is history, as they say,” Dean said. He looked into Castiel’s eyes with bright fondness. “It’ll be two months since we met next week. I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

“It feels like a lot longer,” Castiel said softly.

A prominent silence stretched between them, both remembering everything that happened since they started going out. It wasn’t a normal courtship by any means, what with the accident and Castiel practically moving in with Dean following the incident with his apartment. Theirs was certainly a unique story to tell.

“Well, if I don’t see a ring around that finger by Christmas, then color me surprised,” Jody spoke up, breaking the silence.

Both Dean and Cas jerked their attention toward her.

“It’s way too soon for that!” Dean blurted, his face turning red.

Ellen glanced over at Jody and winked.

“I’ll raise you two weeks,” she said.

A loud laugh came from behind Jody.

“What are you, the romance police?” The owner of the laugh said, her voice heavy with attitude.

“Yes, _thank_ you,” Dean said, gesturing toward her, “What she said.” Dean squinted at the girl, noticing the skulking teenager leaning up against the kitchen wall for the first time. She had long, dark hair and a lingering frown on her face that looked like it had been there far too long. “Wait. Who the hell are you?” Dean demanded. He turned, confused, to Jody and Ellen. “Who’s that?”

Jody pulled the teen over to her side with a good amount of scowling resistance from the teen herself.

“This is Alex, my foster daughter,” Jody said, “Alex, say hi.”

“Hi,” Alex said, not bothering to change her tone from before. Bare minimum achieved.

Her and her mom shared a look, Jody’s one that said _‘don’t be rude,’_ and Alex one that said _‘What? I did as you asked.’_ It was more than a little amusing to watch.

“You have a kid?” Dean blurted, surprised, “Since when did you get a kid?”

“Since this one ended up in my sheriff’s office with no family, nowhere to go,” Jody replied, “But if you bothered to call every now and then, you would know that,” she added scornfully.

“Sorry,” Dean rushed to apologize, “Been kinda busy.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jody said. Her eyes slid over to Castiel, who blinked and felt his mouth go a little dry.

“This is why no one will go out with me,” Alex commented. She heaved a loud sigh. “They all think you’re going to shoot them.”

“I would never!” Jody exclaimed. Alex just shot her a look that said, _Yeah right, Mom._

Ellen suddenly grabbed Dean and Cas by the sleeves and steered them toward the door.

“Okay, boys. Twenty questions is over. Castiel, dear? Congratulations, you pass.” Ellen shot him a grin that could scare the devil. Castiel gulped, wondering what would have befallen him had he failed her test. “Now then, _out_ of my kitchen,” Ellen ordered, pushing them toward the door. “We’ve got a 20-pound turkey to cook, enough sides to drown Rachael Ray, and an apple pie that will make Ramsey weep. But y’all need to leave before all that’s gone to shit. You too, sweetheart.”

Dean and Cas ducked out without further warning, making their way for the living room. Alex trailed behind them, shuffling her feet.

Seating in the crowded living room was limited. Dean grabbed the last easy chair left, pulling Castiel down on his lap to share. Alex, who came in behind them, was forced to sit at the piano in the corner.

The rest of the guys—Samuel, Bobby, John, and Sam—were so busy watching the game, drinking beer and talking loudly to one another that they barely noticed when they wandered in until Dean spoke.

“What’d I miss?” Dean asked, knocking his brother on the arm to grab his attention.

Sam glanced over and pointed at the screen.

“Got barely a minute left in the first quarter. Bobby’s set to win it if the score doesn’t change.” He grabbed for a clipboard on the coffee table. “If you want a square, I’d grab it quick,” he said, passing it to Dean.

“Oh, shit, I totally forgot,” Dean said. He dug out his wallet and threw down a couple of twenties for the pool. “Grabbing two slots for the both of us,” Dean said. He scribbled his initials into two of the squares seemingly at random and then passed the board to Castiel.

“What do I do?” Cas asked him.

“Just pick out two squares,” Dean instructed, “Doesn’t really matter where. Winner’s based on the score. We pick the numbers at random across the top and down the side, and then whatever the score is at the end of each quarter determines the square.”

“So…there is no need to understand the sport to place a bet?” Castiel clarified.

“You got it,” Dean said. He glanced at the screen. “Better hurry though. 30 seconds left on the clock.”

Castiel surveyed the board quickly. There were only four squares left open. Two of them were right beside Dean’s hastily drawn initials. Cas scribbled his next to Dean’s in both squares with plenty of time left on the clock. He passed the clipboard and money back to Sam, their self-appointed football pool bookie for the night.

Seconds later, the lead team scored another touchdown with just a few seconds left to the clock. The quarter ended with the room in a cacophony of cheers and groans.

Dean nudged Cas’s arm.

“Cas! Cas, you won!!” he said excitedly, showing Castiel the scoreboard. Sure enough, one of his squares matched the current score. Castiel blinked at him in surprise.

“How much did I win?” he asked.

“Two hundred,” Dean said, beaming at him, “But technically 40% of that is mine for spotting you the cash,” he said, “You know, finder’s fee.”

“Oh, is that so?” Castiel asked him, amused. 

Dean knew that look. That was Castiel’s _you’re going to get it if I don’t like your answer_ , look. Castiel’s fingers twitched the longer Dean was silent.

Dean grinned, wondering what Cas would do in front of his whole family.

“Heh, yeah, I think that’s a fair deal,” he said impishly.

Castiel’s fingers twitched again and made a grab at Dean’s sides, catching him off guard and ripping an alarmed yelp from his mouth. Dean laughed and squirmed under his grip.

“Okay, okay! You win! I’ll go 80-20.”

Another vicious pinch at his side by Cas had him squealing in laughter.

“I take it back!” Dean laughed, head back and open-mouthed, “I surrender any claim that—hahaha!”

“Careful, you just let an almost-lawyer witness you,” John said, chuckling along with his son.

Sam laughed at that.

“I am so not getting involved,” the youngest Winchester declared.

“I will use the money I won to find a new boyfriend,” Castiel teased, grinning down at Dean. Dean tilted his head back up and smiled at him through long breaths.

“Good luck finding someone as awesome as me,” Dean told him, “Or as hot.”

“I don’t know, I always had a thing for Dr. Sexy…” Castiel teased.

“Hey. HEY. I have dibs on Sexy,” Dean countered, “Y’know, in the case we get transported to some freak alternate world where TV land is real,” he said.

“As if a place like that even exists,” Castiel laughed at him.

Across the room, Samuel was stubbornly silent. He just took gulp after gulp of his beer, watching his grandson and his _boyfriend_ with hard-set eyes. He tipped the bottle up and rose to his feet before he’d swallowed the last drop.

“Ran out of beer,” Samuel said, exiting toward the garage. Dean heard the door creak open and the familiar _clink_ of the bottles hitting one another in the cooler by the garage door. Then he heard the door shut. Silence lingered in the hallway.

“Two hundred bucks says he comes back drunk,” Alex said from the other side of the room.

“He just needs some time to wrap his head around things,” Sam assured his brother, patting Dean on the shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

“Don’t bet on it, Sammy,” Dean told his brother dryly.

“Boys, give him a break,” John said, “He’s a lot older than me and don’t forget, he’s ex-military. If I had trouble with all this, you can be sure—”

_BLAM!!_

The abrupt slam of piano keys in a harsh tenor chord interrupted the last of John’s sentence.

“Oops,” Alex said unapologetically, glowering at the room of shocked faces, “Couldn’t stand the sound of your bullshit.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence following that comment. No one seemed to want to take a poke at the glowering teen. Cas was the first to attempt it.

“Alex,” Castiel said, getting up and moving over to her, “Do you know how to play the piano?”

Alex looked up at him and shrugged.

“I guess.”

“What can you play?” Castiel asked her.

Alex started in on a piano version of Adele’s _Set Fire To the Rain_. Castiel quirked his head and listened intently.

“I’ve heard that on the radio,” he said. He sat down next to Alex, who scooted over on the bench to give him more room. “Show me,” Castiel directed, “Start from the beginning.”

Alex took a breath and did as he asked.

Sam hit the mute button on the TV as the music started.

_“I let it fall, my heart, and as it fell you rose to claim it…”_

The room was silent as Alex sang, her voice soft and hesitant at first.

“Open your mouth wider,” Castiel told her softly, “Sit up straighter and take deeper, quicker inhales.”

Alex shot him a querying look but did as he suggested. The next lines came out much stronger.

“Watch your tempo.”

At each gentle direction, Alex tweaked the music and her performance got better and better.

“ _Oh, Oh, oh. Let it burn. Let it burn…”_

The song faded and Alex sat back from the keyboard, looking up at Cas with a wide smile.

“You’re…kind of awesome,” she told Castiel.

“Ahh…thank you,” Castiel replied, “But I didn’t do much. You’re the one who did most of the work.”

“No, really, I’ve _never_ sung that good,” Alex insisted, “Are you a music teacher?” she asked.

“No, but I am somewhat of an amateur singer,” Castiel told her.

“He’s good enough to be famous,” Dean yelled from across the room.

“No way! I knew it!” Alex exclaimed, leaning closer to him with widening eyes. “Show me something,” she demanded excitedly.

“Ahh…okay. What should I—? Oh…okay, I’ll just…I’ll just pick something then,” Castiel stuttered. He seemed extremely nervous all of a sudden. Possibly because of his audience, though Dean suspected it had more to do with Alex’s flattering remarks. His music was one of the things that Castiel was unusually shy about, contrary to how strong his performances tended to be.

Castiel thought for a long minute about what to play, then flexed his fingers and placed them on the keyboard.

“ _I can’t win, I can’t reign, I will never win this game without you, without you,_ ” Castiel started in a slow ballad, “ _I am lost, I am vain, I won’t ever be the same without you, without you.”_

“Who’s that?” Dean muttered to Sam.

He’d meant to ask it quietly, but Alex heard and glared at him.

 _“Duh_ ,” she said, “It’s _Usher_. Now shut up!”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Dean mimicked under his breath, shooting Alex a face. She didn’t notice at all. She was far too busy watching Castiel play.

_“I won’t run, I won’t fly, I will never make it by without you, without you…”_

The song was nice, Dean supposed, but it wasn’t any Elton John. Alex seemed to like it well enough. She was swaying by the time Castiel trailed off on the last note and finished with a lingering chord.

A loud applause went up around the room, with Dean and Sam being the loudest. Castiel grinned and ducked his head, a little self-conscious from all the attention.

Dean hopped up from his chair and ran over to him, looping his arms around Cas and reaching for a quick peck on the lips.

“That was awesome,” he said fondly. Then he nudged at his boyfriend. “Now scoot, it’s my turn.”

Alex got up and Castiel slid to the end of bench as Dean took his seat at the piano. He was more than a little curious to see what Dean would play. He hadn’t even been aware that Dean _could_ play, let alone his music style or his musical ability. In hindsight, it really ought to have been obvious.

_“When I get home from work, I want to wrap myself around you…”_

The music pouring out through Dean’s fingers was clearly well-practiced but clumsy, off-tempo at times and not overly smooth. Still, none of that mattered because of the absolute heart and soul that Dean poured into each line.

_“I want to take you to heaven. That would make my day complete.”_

Here Dean looked over at Cas and smiled at him, breaking into the chorus.

_“But you and me ain’t no movie stars. What we are is what we are. We share a bed, some lovin’, and TV, yeah. And that’s enough for a workin’ man. What I am is what I am. And I tell you, babe, well, that’s enough for me.”_

The song was clearly very special to Dean, given that it wasn’t his first or even twentieth time playing it, but it was uncanny how closely the lyrics matched their relationship. Though, perhaps the lyrics were commonplace enough to speak to most couples, Castiel thought. Regardless of that, Dean was singing it to _him_ , and that is what mattered. Castiel felt a warm bloom rush from the center of his heart and down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

If it was enough for Dean, then it was enough for him too.

Dean kept singing—not always making the notes or even hitting the right keys, but the feeling he poured into the lyrics had Castiel swimming in the sound of his voice. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt this loved. It was quite possibly the best single performance he’d ever heard in his life, all biased aside. Well, mostly, anyway.

“Your mother loved that song,” John commented once the final notes faded. There was a gentle smile on his face as he remembered his late wife.

“I can’t believe you even remember how to play that,” Sam said, “It’s been…what? Eight years at least?”

“Not since Mom died,” Dean supplied. He looked to Cas as he added, “Didn’t think I’d have a reason to play it again until now.”

“It was…wonderful,” Castiel said softly. He still felt warm all over from the song, and the words just didn’t seem to do it justice. He placed a hand at the back of Dean’s neck, letting it linger and say everything he was feeling but couldn’t find the words for in the moment. Then he nudged Dean to slide over. “My turn,” he said.

Dean got up and Castiel slid over to the middle of the bench again. He collected his thoughts for a moment before taking a breath and beginning.

_“I didn’t know what day it was when you walked into the room. I said hello unnoticed; you said goodbye too soon. Breezing through the clientele, spinning yarns that were so lyrical. I really must confess right here, the attraction was purely physical.”_

Castiel looked up at Dean with that last line and smirked in that awkwardly flirtatious manner that drew a soft chuckle from Dean. He made a face as if to say _“Hey, I’m not judging,”_ and then crossed his arms against his chest, settling in to listen in earnest.

_“I took all those habits of yours that in the beginning were hard to accept. Your fashion sense, Beardsley Prints, I put down to experience. The big bossed lady with the Dutch accent who tried to change my point of view? Her ad lib lines were well rehearsed, but my heart cried out for you.”_

As Castiel changed keys to lead into the chorus, Dean recognized the song with a jolt. He sat down quickly next to Cas to catch the next lines with him.

_“You’re in my heart, you’re in my soul. You’ll be my breath, should I grow old. You are my lover, you’re my best friend. You’re in my soul…”_

Castiel threw back his head and belted the next verse up toward the ceiling.

 _“My love for you is immeasurable, my respect for you immense. You’re ageless, timeless—”_ Here Castiel pinned Dean with a fiery look—“ _Lace and fineness. You’re beauty and elegance. You’re a rhapsody, a comedy, you’re a symphony and a play. You’re every love song ever written—but honey what do you see in me?”_

Dean answered him with the chorus.

 _“You’re in my heart, you’re in my soul…_ ” Castiel chimed in halfway through the chorus. When the verse was up, Dean launched into the next. _“You’re an essay in glamour, please pardon the grammar, but you’re every schoolboy’s dream. You’re Celtic, United, but baby I’ve decided, you’re the best team I’ve ever seen.”_

He skipped the last verse and launched right back into the chorus. It had never been his favorite. Castiel didn’t seem to mind, and joined him for the final lines of the song. The room fell into a hush as the music stopped.

Castiel and Dean didn’t notice because they were too busy staring wide-eyed at one another. Then Dean leaned in and slipped a hand behind his head and kissed him—full on the lips, tongue and everything—right there in front of the whole room. In front of Sam, Bobby, his _Dad_ , and some teenager he’d just met. Dean pulled back feeling a little dazed. How was this his life now? Who was the man sitting next to him, beaming at him with those big soulful blue eyes? The level of happiness he felt in that moment…it just didn’t seem real.

It was Sam who snapped them out of it.

“Okay, when you two get hitched, we’re playing that at the reception,” Dean’s younger brother piped in.

Castiel thought Sam had meant the song in general, until he noticed the smug smirk on Sam’s face as he stored his phone away. Dean obviously had known instantly what he meant.

“Sam! Why you gotta—that’s so—you bitch, gimme that!” Dean exclaimed. He practically launched himself over the piano bench like a hurdle jumper and bolted for his brother, who was curled up into the chair protecting the pocket which stored his phone.

“No— _Dean_ —I— _hahahahaha STOP!!_ Dean!” Sam’s loud protests at his brother’s more-than-heroic attempt to secure the embarrassing video of them would be funnier if Castiel could figure out the reason everything felt surreal and why he was so out of breath.

 _“Cas!_ Come on, man, lend a hand here. It’s your future too!” Dean called out to him. His brother’s hand was pressed into his cheek, turning his head away as Dean gripped Sam’s sides and dug in his fingers.

Ah, that would be why. Castiel blinked and remembered how to inhale. Then he felt a grin break out over his face as Sam finally shoved his brother off of him and Dean held up his hands in defeat.

_His future too_. Dean’s casually spoken words echoed in his head like the chime of church bells. _Their future._

* * *

Samuel Campbell wandered back inside sometime during the fourth quarter, drunk as predicted and swaying on his feet.

“And where the hell have _you_ been?” Deanna demanded scornfully with her hands on her hips. She slapped a hand against her thigh in anger. “Jesus—just look at the state of you. I could _slap_ you!” Deanna rose her hand, but rather than make good on her threat, she merely pointed in earnest at the door. “Go get washed up,” she ordered, “Dinner is in five minutes.”

“The _game_ , Dee,” Samuel protested. Deanna hadn’t heard—she had already turned and strode out of the room. “Dee!” Samuel called after her, following in her wake, “Deanna!”

The room was silent for a few beats before Ellen poked her head in the door.

“Are you all deaf? Dinner’s in five.”

“What about the game!?” John yelled after her.

“You don’t even _like_ football,” Ellen yelled back from down the hall.

“She has a point dad,” Sam told his father, pulling a face. “You just pretend to like it so you can have an excuse to drink beer and bet money on something.”

Dean barked out in laughter.

“Hey, that’s what I do!” he said.

“Like father, like son,” Bobby chuckled from the opposite end of the couch. He glanced to Castiel and shrugged. “Well, sort of.”

“We’d better do what Ellen says before she pulls out the wooden spoon,” John said with a grin, shoving off of the couch. Castiel raised his eyebrows and shot Dean a look.

“Dean, I believe your father and Ellen are a…” Castiel lowered his voice to a whisper and continued, “a _thing,”_ he finished dramatically. 

Dean snorted at him.

“What, dad and Ellen?” he sputtered in laughter, “No way.”

“I—are you sure?” Castiel asked him, “Because I thought I detected something between them.”

“Cas—no. Sammy, can you believe this guy? Dad and _Ellen_?” Dean jabbed his thumb at Cas.

“What? No. Oh, _God_ no. Ellen would eat him alive,” Sam said.

“That is rather my point,” Castiel cut in, “It sounded like he would enjoy it.”

“Oh _GOD_ , _Cas_!!” Dean yelled, “Ugh, I need mind bleach now thanks to that image. Fuckin’ _gross_!”

“It is just intercourse, Dean,” Castiel pointed out.

“It’s _Dad sex_ , Cas!” Dean yelled at him, “Just—can we _please stop talking about it_!?”

“I merely mentioned it as a possibility,” Castiel said with a pout.

“Yeah, thanks for that, Cas,” Sam said. He heaved himself to his feet. “Ok, I’m going to go scrub out the insides of my eyeballs with some steel wool until dinner.”

In actuality, he was going to go wash his hands and find Jess, but that was neither here nor there.

“We should probably go wash up too,” Castiel said to Dean, tugging at his sleeve.

* * *

It had been a long time since Castiel enjoyed a real Thanksgiving dinner with family. Granted it wasn’t his family—though there was every possibility that someday it might become his—but the kind faces seated around the table (with the exception of Samuel’s disapproving frown) were reassuring. The turkey carving honor went to Sam, who handled the large carving knife like a pro, casually flipping it in his hand before sinking it into the bird set in the middle of the table. For a good ten minutes there was nothing but serving plates and casserole dishes being passed in a frenzy around the table as everyone piled the smorgasbord of warm, home-cooked food onto their plates.

Castiel tried three times for the gravy boat and each time was too slow to grab it. Dean finally passed it to him after dumping nearly half the thing over the small mountain on his plate.

“You gotta be quick on the draw in this family,” he told Cas, “Otherwise you go hungry.” He glanced at his brother and continued with a rather crooked smile tugging at his lips. “That’s what happens when you grow up with a freakin’ Neanderthal for a brother.”

“Dude, you eat like, four times as much as I do on average,” Sam countered. He looked up from his plate and grinned at Cas. “Guy won’t even touch a salad. So you know, good luck trying to get him to eat healthy _ever_.”

“I have definitely put on a couple pounds since we started going out,” Castiel commented.

“Hey, I’m a burger man,” Dean announced. He looked at Cas and winked. “I eat burgers whenever I can.”

Castiel chuckled.

“Is that so?” he flirted.

“Mom used to call him that,” Sam supplied, “There was a good few years—how old were you Dean? He literally wouldn’t eat anything else. Just a dry bun and the meat. No cheese, no ketchup, nothing.”

“You were eight,” John said, “It lasted about a year and a half. Don’t think I ever saw your Mother happier than she was the day you asked for mac and cheese.”

Dean laughed.

“Yeah, I thought she was going to faint with happiness. What can I say? I was a weird kid.”

“I don’t think much has changed there,” Jo noted. She turned to Cas. “Cas? Back me up here.”

“Ah…I will trust your judgment,” he said. He glanced shyly at Dean. “I was also a…weird kid.”

Dean smiled at him and said, “You’re my weirdo,” which brought a soft glow to Castiel’s face.

“And you are mine,” he murmured in return.

Castiel finished with the gravy and set it back down, noticing as he glanced around the table that most had already started to dig in. So very different from his family. Of course not all families were like his. In fact, most of them weren’t. He looked down at his plate feeling a little out of place.

Then he felt a nudge at his shoulder and glanced over to find Dean holding out his hand.

“You wanted to say Grace, right?” Dean asked.

Castiel blushed, moved by his consideration and nodded. He took Dean’s hand and started to speak softly.

“We give thanks for the many hands…”

One by one folk around the table realized what he was doing, put down their forks, and stopped eating to listen. Deanna nudged her husband and sent him a scornful look to which he rolled his eyes but paused in his chewing to bow his head and take her hand.

“Cas, sweetheart, speak up so we can all hear you,” Ellen said gently.

Castiel looked up and turned a little red when he realized he had the whole table’s attention. He looked to Dean, who sent him a reassuring smile and squeezed his hand. Castiel cleared his throat and started over in a louder voice.

“Bless the many hands that made this meal possible. May it nourish us and empower them for the better of all, Amen.”

He rushed it a little, speaking quickly in his self-consciousness. A low chorus of _“Amen,”_ went up around the table, and then everyone continued eating.

“So, Cas, you religious?” Samuel asked suddenly. He stuffed another bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“Yes, that is correct,” Castiel answered him. He frowned, knowing what was coming next. He really just wanted to eat, but Samuel seemed intent upon provoking him.

“I thought they didn’t let your kind in the church,” Samuel said.

Castiel looked up at him and narrowed his eyes.

“My relationship with God and the church has nothing to do with my sexual orientation,” Castiel informed him stiffly.

Samuel just shrugged, like it didn’t matter to him despite being the one to ask the question. He just stuffed another bite into his mouth and shook his head.

“Things sure are different these days,” he muttered.

Castiel’s jaw tensed.

“Yes, well, thank God for that,” Castiel grumbled. He stuffed a bite into his mouth and chewed vigorously.

Sam cleared his throat and changed the subject.

“So, you two have any plans for Christmas?” he asked. He looked from Castiel to Dean. “Cuz I was thinking…maybe Jess and I can fly to New York again. See the city all done up in lights.”

“Oh yeah!” Jess exclaimed, “I’d love that! Fifth avenue, and Rockefeller Center, and the skating rink—I’ve only ever seen it in movies.”

“There is an outdoor Christmas market in Bryant Park,” Castiel said, “and roasted chestnuts for sale on the street corners. Central Park and the Plaza is always decorated very beautifully as well.”

“It sounds super romantic,” Jess said. She glanced to Sam briefly, and they shared a look.

“Speaking of,” John cut in, “Sam, when are you popping the question? I want grandchildren before I’m dead, son.” John leaned over the table to Sam, who had frozen with his fork halfway to his lips.

“What?” Sam blurted, not moving.

“He said, when—” Castiel began to repeat.

“I heard what he said, Cas, thanks!” Sam said quickly, snapping out of his daze. He dropped the forkful of food—fork included—to his plate and stared at it for a long minute, floundering. “Uhhh….uhhh…uhhhhh….” No coherent words seemed to be forthcoming, so Jessica placed a hand over the one Sam had on the table and leaned over him to John.

“We’re waiting until after graduation,” Jessica informed his father.

“Right. That’s right,” Sam said quickly, looking up. He immediately went back to staring at his food.

Dean narrowed his eyes at his little brother’s suspicious behavior.

 _Wait a second_.

Was Sam planning on asking for Jessica’s hand ahead of schedule?

He would have to ask Sam about it later. For now, best to field the attention away from him, just in case Jess started to get suspicious too.

“How about you, dad?” Dean asked. He raised his chin in the air toward his father. “When’re you getting re-hitched?”

John’s gaze slide off to the right for just a second, so quickly that Dean almost missed it. His right, where Ellen was sitting eating her meal with a careful indifference.

“Holy shit, Cas, you were right,” Dean blurted out, nudging at the man blindly with his elbow. He practically stood up in his chair in his excitement and pointed a finger at his father. “You totally have a thing!” Dean exclaimed. He waved the finger between John and Ellen now, feeling immensely pleased to have worked it out by himself (well, almost). “Sam!! They totally have a thing!”

“What!?” Jo blurted on the other side of him. She immediately put down her fork and stared at her mother from across the table. “Mom, is that true?”

“Look, would you _please_ stop calling it a _thing_?” Ellen said, eyes flicking to Dean, then to her daughter, “It’s just a…” She glanced sideways at John down the thin line of her nose and then rolled her shoulder back a little. “Ok, maybe it is a _thing_ ,” she admitted.

“Holy shit!” Dean blurted again, sitting back down, “Why didn’t you _tell_ me!? _Dad!?_ ” Dean could not seem to keep the goofy smile off of his face at all. He just looked at his father, eyes bright, smile beaming out for the whole world to see.

John cleared his throat, glanced at Ellen, and then looked down at his place of food as if trying to determine if he had the ability to turn it and then himself invisible through willpower alone.

“I didn’t want you boys thinking that this in any way replaces what I had with your mother,” John explained in an even tone, as though he had rehearsed this little spiel many times over in his head. Dean realized with a jolt that that was _exactly what John had done_. John looked up from his plate and looked a little uncomfortable.

“Look, it isn’t anything serious yet,” Ellen explained for him, “We’re just…spending time together here and there. That’s all.”

“Wait,” Dean said, looking between them, confused, “When?” As far as he knew, his father had been with him in New York for the past two months. Or…wait, had he? Dean had been a little distracted.

“Remember the issue with the Silverview closing?” John reminded him.

“That long ago?” Dean said, surprised, “So that never happened?” he asked.

“No, no that happened,” John clarified, “Ellen called while I was in LA, said she had an issue at the bar and I offered to help. Flew in after straightening things out and we…ended up spending the weekend together.”

“Oh great,” Jo cut in, “ _I_ leave and suddenly you’re _dating_?” she accused her mom.

“Joanna Beth, I do not need to explain myself to you, of all people,” Ellen snapped at her daughter.

“Right, cuz you were always so accepting of the guys I went out with,” Jo replied snidely.

“Hang on. LA,” Dean cut in, “That was the same weekend…” he trailed off. The same weekend him and Cas had sorta-kinda got together, when they’d gone to the bar and he found out Jo was in New York too. All those questions his dad had asked when he returned from his trip about Dean’s new love interest…Dean had absolutely no idea he’d had a similar thing going on. “Shit, I feel like such a lousy son. Dad, you gotta know I want you to be happy, right? That you deserve someone in your life? I’m sure mom wants that too.”

“It was one weekend,” John insisted, “I didn’t want to tell you boys until it was something…more than that.”

“And is it?” Sam spoke up. He leaned out over his meal toward and glanced between his father and Ellen. “Ellen?”

“It…might be turning into something,” Ellen admitted. She glanced at John. “But it’s really too early to tell, so we’d appreciate it if you didn’t make a big deal out of it. We’re just playing things how they go. Both of us been married and widowed once already. Seems stupid to jump into things.”

“Right, and we’re all just supposed to be okay with that,” Jo grumbled into her meal, “Typical.”

“Jo, come on, give her a break,” Dean said to her.

“No, Dean. This is bullshit.” Jo turned and glared at her mother. “You scared off practically every guy I went out with and now you want _my_ approval? Way to be a complete and total hypocrite, _mom_.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Ellen told her sternly, “I’m a lot older than you, and I’ve got a lot more experience, and I really don’t want to hear it.” She frowned and raised her voice. “And I seem to remember all the guys you brought home being bottom-feeding trash.”

“She has a point, Jo,” Dean cut in, implying their history together. Jo had wanted to get friendly with him at one point, back before he was in any way ready for a committed relationship. It was a good thing Dean had a healthy fear of her mother, because otherwise he would have totally gone for it, and then things could have ended messy.

“I’m 20 years old,” Jo said tersely, “I’m old enough to make my own decisions and hell, mess up if I want to. This is the whole reason I left in the first place,” she told her mom. She turned and glared at Dean. “I don’t need anyone telling me how to live my life. Least of all, _you,_ ” she told Dean bitingly.

“No one’s saying that,” Sam cut in, “Jo, we care about you. You’re like a sister to us.” He laughed. “Hell, you could _actually_ be our sister if things work out.”

“That would be nice,” Jess remarked, “Then I wouldn’t be the only girl in the family.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t say anything,” John said gruffly. He poked at his meal with his fork, moving sections of it aimlessly from one side of his plate to the other and continued. “I didn’t want things getting blown out of proportion.” He threw his fork down on his plate and continued, “One thing you all need to understand—neither of us is looking to get married again. We just wanted some companionship. That’s really all this is.”

“Shit, Dad, you could have just said that,” Dean said. He couldn’t help the line of disappointment and hurt that bled into his voice. “You didn’t have to keep it a secret.”

“You mean like you kept your relationship hidden from me?” John shot back at him.

Dean flushed.

“That’s different,” he insisted, “and you know it. Bottom line is you should’ve said something.”

“Dean, please,” Sam cut in again, “Dad, come on. Dean’s right. We just want you both to be happy.”

John looked down into his meal again with a frown.

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?” he grumbled.

It was the first time Dean ever saw his father show any kind of uncertainty like this.

“Shit,” Dean said again, sinking back against his chair. Here John was being all supportive of him and Cas, and it never even crossed Dean’s mind that his father might need the same thing back from him. He just…never seemed to need _anything_ from Dean. He was just… _Dad_. Invincible, all-powerful, ‘Don’t Need Nothin’ From No _body_ ,’ John Winchester _._ In that instant, Dean thought that maybe he had everything backwards. That maybe his dad needed him more than Dean needed his dad, and—about how shitty Dean had acted when he threatened to walk out on his dad forever, and how worried he must have been that Dean would actually go through with it.

He wished he could make it up to him, show him that he truly supported his father in whatever he had with Ellen…or any future romantic interest. But the trick was figuring out how to do that in front of the whole family without making things even more emotional or awkward.

When John had come over following the accident, they’d played cards and just hung out together. And something about _all of them_ hanging out as a family had felt special to Dean, like his father had truly accepted his relationship with Cas and wasn’t just pretending to put up with it.

Suddenly Dean got an idea.

“You should come for Christmas,” he told Ellen, “Then we can all be together. We could even do like a…group date or something.”

Jo laughed scornfully.

“Oh yeah, that’ll be fun,” she said with a heavy line of sarcasm. She shoveled some sweet potato casserole into her mouth and rolled her eyes.

“Perhaps we can find someone to be your date between now and then, Jo,” Castiel said, turning to her.

Jo scoffed with her mouth full and shot him an uneasy look.

“Thanks, Cas, but no thanks,” she said. “Look, I’m fine being single,” Jo insisted, sitting back in her chair, “Really. There isn’t any rule sayin’ I gotta be with someone just cuz it’s the holidays. I’m perfectly happy on my own. In fact, I prefer it.”

Castiel sent her a wry smile.

“I thought the very same thing,” he said. He glanced at Dean. “Up until two months ago, that is.”

Dean lowered his eyes to his plate, feeling Castiel’s soft gaze on him. He grinned into his mashed potatoes with a bit of a blush.

“Yeah, so did I,” he confessed.

“I appreciate it, guys, really,” Jo said, “But I work at a _bar_. You think I want to go home just to go _back out to a bar_? No thank you.” Jo rolled her eyes and continued eating.

“So do something else, then,” Sam suggested, “Join a book club. Or a volunteer group.”

“There are always openings at the soup kitchen where we volunteer if you are interested,” Castiel interjected.

“Oh hey, yeah! You should totally come sometime. Then you could meet Charlie!” Dean said excitedly.

“Dean, I don’t want my first date to be at a soup kitchen,” Jo told him, “That’s just weird.”

“Isn’t that what happened with you guys?” Sam asked, glancing between Dean and Cas.

Castiel smirked a little at the embarrassed expression that crossed Dean’s face.

“What? No way—that didn’t count,” Dean said quickly, “Anyway, I didn’t mean it like that. Charlie’s just a really cool person. Okay yeah, she’s into girls but I meant meet as in like, friends,” Dean explained.

“She is what is called an ‘Uber nerd’,” Castiel told Jo, “I didn’t realize there were rankings of nerdiness, but apparently she is their queen.”

Jo laughed.

“She sounds nuts,” she commented.

“Yeah, but she’s the good kind of nuts,” Dean assured her, “We should do a movie night or something. Cas still hasn’t seen Lord of the Rings.”

“Yes, apparently that is a serious nerd _faux pas_ ,” Castiel added.

“Maybe, okay?” Jo said, “I think about it.”

There was a pulse of silence around the table, the only sound from the clink of silverware against the good china.

“What kind of name is that? _Charlie_ ,” Samuel said abruptly, interrupting the quiet in a loud, patronizing tone, “Thought that was a boy’s name.”

“Everyone calls me ‘Jo’,” Jo pointed out to him, barely missing a beat.

“Which is short for _Joana_ ,” Samuel replied. “What’s Charlie short for? Charelina?”

“Charlene?” Castiel supplied, as though it were obvious, “Though I don’t see where the gender of the name is relevant. For instance, in London the name Ashley is a well-used male name. Here it isn’t, which proves that meaning is interpreted and can be whatever people decide to attach to it.”

“Didn’t know I was getting a psychology lesson with dinner,” Samuel commented dryly. His lips turned up into a subtle smirk then. “So what about your name? _Castiel_. What kind of a name is that?”

“A religious one,” Castiel replied evenly, refusing to look at the man or stoop to his level, “I was named after an angel.”

“That a boy angel or a girl angel?” Samuel asked.

Castiel flushed a little at that.

“Neither. Angels are considered androgynous by nature,” Castiel informed him. He kept his eyes lowered to his plate and pressed his lips together, attempting to keep his rising ire in check.

“So which are you?” Samuel asked him.

“Pops, knock it off,” John cut in.

“What? I’m not supposed to assume, right?” Samuel asked.

“If you must know, I identify as a male, though I do not let it define me,” Castiel answered him curtly.

“There, see?” Samuel said, leaning back in his chair. He gestured toward Castiel. “Now I know.”

“Congratulations,” Alex told him dryly.

There was an awkward beat of silence following that comment. Those around the table leaned into their plates a little more and spent a few minutes focusing on chewing and stuffing in more food.

“What do you mean, you don’t let it define you?” Samuel asked suddenly.

“Samuel, can’t you just let it go?” Deanna asked him.

“I’m just asking,” Samuel said defensively. “He doesn’t want to answer, he doesn’t have to.”

“Cas, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Dean told him softly.

Castiel placed his hand over the one Dean had resting on the table.

“It’s fine, Dean,” he said. He turned to Samuel, who kept glancing over at the place where their hands were touching. Castiel felt his cheeks burn under the scrutiny, but refused to move it away. “I don’t believe in established gender roles,” Castiel told him, “I feel they are unhelpful for a person’s development. I am far more interested in being true to myself than I am attempting to fit into society’s misconstrued concept of who I should be.”

“So guys should be allowed to run around in dresses and frills, is that what you’re saying?” Samuel challenged.

That caused a flare of anger in Castiel. Next to him he felt Dean go rigid and Castiel felt a surge of protective energy rush through him.

“I see no difference between that and women being allowed to wear pants where once that was forbidden,” Castiel pointed out in a cool, even voice.

“Here, here,” Bobby chimed in, raising his glass, “Did you know when I went to Scotland I got to try on a kilt?” he said, “Those things are damn comfy, let me tell ya.”

“You ah, wear kilts, Bobby?” Jody asked him with a flirtatious smile.

Alex covered her eyes with a groan.

“Oh my God so embarrassing,” she complained.

“Could do next time I come ‘round to fix your sink,” Bobby replied with a wink.

Jody flushed a little and Alex let out a wail.

“Please stop!” she shouted.

Jody leaned in to Bobby and pressed a kiss to his lips momentarily, mostly just to embarrass her foster daughter, but also because she knew if she did, she would most _definitely_ get to see Bobby in a kilt. If not today, then someday soon down the line.

Bobby’s eyebrows just about disappeared into his receding hairline when Jody laid one on him, frozen in shock.

Dean relaxed and sat back in his chair with a goofy grin and a laugh, leaning a little into Castiel’s side as he watched the spectacle unfold.

Castiel was stiff next to him, still on edge. He frowned into his food, feeling far more upset than he would typically get on this sort of topic. After all, the questions meant Samuel was trying to understand, right? Wasn’t that was a good sign? And if that was true, then why did it feel like the more he explained, the more Samuel seemed to judge him?

Was he just trying to embarrass Castiel in front of everyone? Trying to get under his skin?

 _Calm down_ , Castiel told himself. This was Dean’s family, after all. The last thing he wanted was to leave a bad impression.

Dean’s hand shifted under his suddenly, flipping around to thread through his fingers. Castiel looked up from his plate and found the anxious feeling under his skin beginning to melt away under that easy smile and those bright, green eyes.

Then he looked back up to find Samuel watching him closely, and felt his cheeks prickle under his patronizing gaze.

“So, _Castiel_ , what do your parents think about all of this?” Samuel asked him suddenly.

Cas froze.

“What my parents think is not important,” he answered in a low, empty voice.

Dean heard the wobble in his voice at the end and could tell Cas was doing his best to keep his face blank. He felt his heart grow heavy. He looked over to his grandfather and found a smug look on his face, knowing he had hit a nerve. The anger that sliced through Dean was instantaneous, like a flash of lightning.

“Enough,” Dean said in a booming voice, “Granddad, knock it off,” he warned.

“What? It’s a fair question,” Samuel said. He shoved in another bite with a nonchalant shrug, “I just don’t get it, that’s all. Ain’t natural for a man to…you know.” He shook his head at glanced over to John.

“Samuel,” John warned.

“Please, John, like you’re really okay with all this,” Samuel pressed.

“Actually, I am,” John replied coolly.

“Well I’m sorry, but I’m finding this a little hard to wrap my head around,” Samuel said. He shook his head again. “I tell you, if it was my boy was gay as a fruits basket I’d—”

“You would do _what_ , exactly?” Castiel demanded, slamming his fork down on the table. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room with a powerful authority. Dean was sure he wasn’t the only one who felt a chill run up his spine, and he could swear the temperature in the room dropped a good five degrees.

Castiel rose to his feet.

“Excuse me,” he said. His voice shook with barely controlled rage. Dean was sure he had never seen Castiel this angry before, and for the first time he realized how truly fucking _terrifying_ he could be.

It wasn’t just him. Across the table, Samuel’s age-hardened face fractured ever so slightly. Dean’s granddad wasn’t a man to be afraid of much, but even he seemed nervous by Castiel’s reaction.

Castiel moved briskly away from the table and out the door of the dining room through the kitchen. A couple seconds later, Dean heard the front door slam.

“ _Shit_ ,” he cursed, getting up and throwing down his napkin. He glared at his grandfather with such loathing in that moment Dean was sure he was going to spontaneously set the man aflame. He jabbed his finger toward the elder patriarch. “I swear to God, Samuel, if I hadn’t been raised to respect my elders I would beat the living shit out of you,” Dean told him. Then he stormed out of the room after Cas.

“Cas!” Dean called, rushing through the front door. A blast of cold air hit him as soon as it swung open. He could just see the outline of Castiel’s rigid form standing in the middle of the walkway. Castiel started down it as soon as he realized he wasn’t alone. “Cas _,_ wait!” Dean called again. He hurried down the front steps and broke into a jog when Castiel sped up. “I said wait up,” Dean said, catching him around the upper arm. They stood out on the curb, breath crystalizing in the chilly November air.

Castiel had his arms wrapped around himself protectively, his face drawn and rigid. His breathing was harsh, irregular, and he was shaking, though whether it was from the cold or due to anger, Dean couldn’t tell. Possibly it was a little of both.

“Cas, I’m sorry you had to listen to that,” Dean told him. His voice was sad, apologetic. “I swear, I had no idea he’s such a—”

“A homophobic _prick_ ,” Castiel finished for him, his voice raw and biting. He dropped his hands to his sides. They were drawn into fists. So then, Dean noted, he _was_ angry.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He hated how defeated his voice came out. There was a poignant beat of silence between them and then Dean drew Castiel in to his chest. “Hey, come here,” he whispered. He brought his hand to the back of Castiel’s head and hugged it in close. “It’s okay, Cas, I’m right here,” he murmured, “This isn’t like before. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Dean.” His name came out in a choked sob against his chest. Castiel drew his arms around Dean’s back and balled his fists into his red button-up shirt, pressing his face into Dean’s shoulder. Another halting sob escaped, then another, until Cas was all-out crying in his arms.

“That’s it, babe, let it out,” Dean murmured. He ran his hand soothingly up and down Castiel’s back. “I’ve got you, Cas.”

“I…sh-shouldn’t have snapped like that,” Castiel said into his shirt. It was quickly becoming wet with his tears. His snot too, probably, and Dean tried not to be too grossed out by that. “I just got so _angry_.”

Castiel’s voice grew dense and sharp—one hot mass of energy that crackled in the air. Dean hugged him tighter and let out a heavy sigh.

“I know, I’m pissed at him too,” he said consolingly, “Pretty sure everyone is.” He sighed again. “I’m sorry, Cas. I don’t know how to make this right.” A pause. “Tell me how to make this right,” Dean murmured softly. He pressed a kiss into the dark mass of Castiel’s hair.

Castiel shook his head, his nose rubbing against the front of Dean’s shirt.

“There is no cure for that level of ignorance,” he said.

Dean drew in a long breath and then let it out, raising his eyes to the heavens.

“Yeah, fair enough,” he said. “What do _you_ need, Cas?” Dean asked in the next moment.

Castiel drew his face away from Dean’s shirt an inch. The cold air moved in, chilled further by the wet splotch where Castiel had been crying. Glancing down, Dean could see the sparkle of tear tracks starting to dry on his face.

“I am not going back inside,” Castiel said abruptly. He tensed in Dean’s arms, as though he expected Dean to drag him in there.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, relenting. “But it’s fucking freezing out here Cas, and you don’t have a coat.”

Castiel shook his head stubbornly.

“Then I will freeze to death,” he said.

Dean let out a long sigh.

“Alright, well, _I_ would rather not freeze my ass off,” he said, “Hang on a second, okay?”

He released Castiel and made a beeline for the side door to the garage. Castiel followed him, arms wrapped around himself to stave off the cold. This time, Dean was sure, the shivering was from the lack of heat.

“Dean, w-what are you d-doing?” Castiel asked through chattering teeth.

“Looking for something,” Dean replied. He grabbed a box off the top shelf of the utility rack by the far wall, opened it, and then dragged the next one down on top of it. “Here we go,” he said triumphantly.

Inside was a bunch of old coats from when they lived here and a number of blankets. Dean pulled out a couple of quilted flannel jackets that he thought might fit and tossed one to Cas. The man caught it with a question on his shivering lips.

“Pretty sure that was my mom’s but it should be around your size,” Dean told him.

Dean shrugged on a similar jacket that he remembered his dad wearing back in the day and then grabbed a couple of the blankets from the box. He picked his way through the mine-field of riffraff littered around the garage and held out his hand for Castiel to take. Castiel’s fingers wrapped around his timidly, but curious. Dean led them back outside and started down the driveway.

“Dean, where are we going?” Castiel asked him once they started down the street. Dean turned to him with a grin.

“Goin’ somewhere special,” he said affectionately, “You up for a bit of a walk?”

Castiel nodded and replied with a hesitant, “Yes, alright.”

They turned down a couple of side streets, and then Dean pulled Cas across to a cluster of woodland bordering the small neighborhood.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel spoke up, sounding impatient.

“Trust me, Cas?” Dean asked him.

Castiel’s breath came out in a little huff. He almost sounded irritated, but Dean knew that was just a symptom of the anger that still thrummed under his skin. Dean readjusted his grip and drew Castiel in closer.

“It’s not that much further, I promise,” he said.

Castiel’s silence this time was brief.

“I trust you, Dean,” was all he said.

Less than five minutes later they broke through the small grove of trees into a wide field. The silhouette of an old, rundown barn could be seen in the distance, just a skeleton of rotting two-by-fours and broken windows. Dean led them to the middle of the field, then stopped.

“What are we…?” Castiel started to ask. He watched as Dean dropped his hand and then spread one of the blankets on the ground. Then he sat down with a sigh and tugged Castiel down with him.

“Look up,” Dean said, pointing.

Castiel did, and then a small gasp escaped his open lips. Above them the Milky Way stretched in a brilliant arch across the sky, so bright it nearly hurt to look at.

“Dean…” Castiel said in a low voice. There was a layer of thick emotion under the rumbling gravel, as though someone had spilled tar all over it.

“I used to come here with Sammy all the time when we were kids,” Dean told him. He shook out the other blanket and draped it over their laps, drawing Castiel in close to his chest so that he could lean back against him. “Never took anyone else out here though. Was savin’ it for someone special.”

Castiel dropped his gaze to the blanket stretched between them. His throat bobbed with the emotion clawing his way up it.

“Dean, I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier,” he said, his voice strained. “I just—”

“Cas, I get it. There’s no need to apologize,” Dean told him. He hugged Castiel closer to him. “Hell, I’m pissed too. I can understand it cuz he’s my granddad, but that’s still no excuse. He had no right to say those things to you, and I’m not letting him off the hook for it. I just want you to know that.” He paused and then added, “I’m on your side, Cas. Always. You know that.”

“Yes, I know…” Castiel said softly. “I just…I am tired of the world judging me for who I am,” he admitted.

Dean laughed lightly.

“Yeah, you and me both,” he said.

They were quiet for a number of minutes, just looking up at the sky. Dean pulled Castiel down with him to lie on the blanket, and together they cuddled up under the stars with their shared gaze turned toward the heavens.

“She’s up there,” Dean said suddenly, rousing Castiel from his thoughts. Dean swallowed thickly. “My mom, I mean. She’s still up there lookin’ down on us. Watchin’ out for us.” He scoffed lightly. “Don’t see how she didn’t see this one comin’ but…who knows, maybe she was busy. I’m sure she’s doing all she can.”

Castiel turned his head. Dean wasn’t looking at him though—he was looking up at the stars, his eyes a deep forest green in the dim starlight of the field. Every couple seconds he would exhale, and a small crystalline cloud would filter out through his nose. He seemed so young when he said those words, like a small boy trapped in this strapping man’s muscular frame.

Castiel hummed and let his head fall back to the pillow of Dean’s shoulder. He shifted closer until he could feel Dean’s cheek brushing up against his head.

“Yes, I am sure she is,” he agreed.

They didn’t speak again for hours. Dean wasn’t sure how long it had been, but he did notice the cold settling into the deep of the night and the stars overhead starting to turn. He didn’t mind though, and they would have stayed that way all night had Dean’s phone not buzzed in his jacket pocket.

The small screen was glaringly bright when he brought it out, and he had to squint through the harsh white light to read what it said. He scoffed lightly once he had.

“Sammy,” Dean informed Castiel when he turned his head with a question on his lips. “Gran and Granddad just left.” He scoffed again. “Took ‘em long enough,” he said. “I bet Granddad refused to leave until after coffee, that stubborn bastard.” He was suddenly a lot more upset than he had been all night and grabbed Castiel’s hand suddenly. “Sorry,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to their joined fingers, “Guess it’s finally catching up with me.”

“We can stay as long as you like,” Castiel told him, “I am not cold. It is quite pleasant being here with you.”

Dean hummed and let his head flop to the side, grinning at his angel.

“Thanks,” he said. He scooted closer, rolling fully onto his side and scooped Castiel’s face up in his free hand. “I think I know how we can make it better,” he said suggestively.

“Dean, I am not having sex with you outside on a blanket in the middle of an open field,” Castiel told him sternly, “In winter, no less.”

Dean let out a bark of laughter.

“Heh, I wasn’t even gonna go there,” he flirted, “But if you insist…”

Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

“Dean, no.”

“I’m missing pie, Cas. _Ellen’s_ apple pie. I deserve a happy ending.”

“The answer is still no, Dean,” Castiel replied, refusing to budge.

Dean nuzzled into his neck.

“Even if I…” Dean kissed the patch of skin just under Castiel’s jaw. “…were to… _beg_ for it?” He made a whining, groaning noise into Castiel’s ear. “Please, Cas?”

“N-no,” Castiel forced out in a shaky breath as Dean sucked at his neck.

“Come on,” Dean whispered, drawing a hand down the front of his pants, “Live a little.”

His fingers went for the button to Castiel’s jeans and slipped under his waistband. He stroked down slowly, then up with a teasing drag of his fingers. Castiel’s breath hitched and he shifted closer to Dean.

 _“Dean_ ,” he hissed, grabbing at Dean’s hip.

“It’s just you, me, and the stars, Cas,” Dean murmured against his skin.

It was difficult to protest when he was so starved for physical contact. After three weeks of being on the mend without much intimate time together due to his injuries, Castiel was hard pressed to say no in earnest, especially when he was so _hard_ pressed up against Dean like this, and certainly not with Dean _insisting_ so actively to continue his attentions.

It really was no surprise when he rolled his hips against Dean’s and forced their mouths together at the next drag of Dean’s hand. His lips were chilled, but his mouth was warm, and the contrast was enticing in the way that it blended together.

“Dean, quit teasing me,” Castiel demanded in a low growl when he pulled back, “And fuck me.”

Long minutes later found them panting, half-clothed underneath the blanket and shivering from the cold.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, nuzzling into his neck and biting down gently, “You think this makes us boy scouts?”

“How do you mean?” Castiel asked him. He looked sideways at Dean, knowing there was a punch line coming from the shit eating grin on his boyfriend’s face.

“Y’know, since we were rubbing two sticks together,” Dean said.

Ah, there it was. Castiel answered him with a sly smirk.

“As far as I can remember we didn’t exactly set anything on fire, Dean,” he said.

“Yeah, but the sparks sure were flyin’, am I right?” Dean replied in good humor. He nudged Castiel’s shoulder. “Bet we could set the whole _field_ on fire if we really tried,” Dean murmured, pressing his lips to the spot just underneath Castiel’s ear. “Me and my fiery angel.”

Castiel’s breath caught as Dean bit down on his neck again, this time sucking greedily.

“Nnnngggg _Dean_!” Castiel half-groaned, half-growled at him. He nipped at Dean’s neck in return, digging his fingers into Dean’s sides as he ground his hips, hardening again already. Then he grabbed the back of Dean’s head and crashed their mouths together.

“There he is,” Dean purred against his neck when Castiel broke back, panting from the intensity of the kiss. Dean’s lips just barely brushed against his skin, “First taste I got of that fire was the night you took me to the opera.” Dean nosed along the five o’clock shadow under Castiel’s jaw. “Most beautiful creature I ever saw,” Dean crooned, “I was terrified of letting you slip through my fingers.”

As he said it, Dean stroked up and down the length of his cock with his fingers splayed. The loose grip was meant as a tease, and Castiel arched against him, craving more.

“Not letting you go now,” Dean uttered huskily. His voice was pitched low like embers cooling in the fireplace, but smooth and smoky like a finely aged whiskey. The kind of whiskey that still had a little burn to it, just on principle.

Dean grabbed Castiel around his length and ducked under the blanket, giving Castiel one quick, smug smirk before diving down between his legs.

It was well past midnight when they finally trudged out of the field and back to the house. The house was dark and quiet when they arrived, and they tiptoed lightly up to the second floor to Dean’s bedroom.

“Holy crap, it’s a hell of a lot warmer in here,” Dean whispered as they slid into bed together. He pressed cold toes to Castiel’s warm feet, drawing a yelp from him.

“Dean! Your toes are like ice cubes!” Castiel whisper-yelled.

“ _Sshhh! Cas!_ ” Dean hushed him. He wiggled closer and wrapped his arms around Cas. “Come on, warm me up,” he whined.

“You—you are such a big baby,” Castiel scolded him lightly. The tone in his voice was affectionate, however, and the look in his eyes soft. Dean grinned into them.

“You love me,” Dean said.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, “I suppose I do.”

* * *

Breakfast was quiet the next morning. Typically a much more jovial event, with the Campbells coming by in the morning with freshly baked bread from Deanna’s bread maker and local eggs and bacon from the farm up the road. It was a family tradition that Dean always looked forward to, but this morning the ritual was broken by long, uncomfortable silences and awkward glances between their friends and family around the table. Deanna and Samuel’s seats were flagrantly empty, a fact that needed no explanation. Everyone was thinking about what had happened the night before, but no one was willing to talk about it.

“Well, this blows,” Alex spoke up suddenly in the middle of a bite of eggs.

“Alex, language,” Jody said in warning.

“What? It does?” Alex said, “Just because nobody wants to talk about it doesn’t mean it’ll just go away.” The teen shrugged and moved some food around on her plate. “I mean, it’s not any of my business but…seems pretty stupid to pretend it didn’t happen. I hate people who do that.”

“She’s right,” Sam spoke up. He set down his fork with a sigh and leaned back in his chair. “We should’ve tried harder to get him to leave last night.”

“You know your grandfather,” John cut in, “Bastard’s so stubborn he’d have stayed even if the whole goddamn house was on fire.”

“Then we drag his ass out,” Ellen spoke up. Her mouth was drawn in a thin line, her lips pressed together. “Maybe a good kick in the pants is all he needs.”

“Here, here,” Bobby chimed in.

“Guys,” Dean broke in. He swallowed, not sure whether he should be happy his family was this upset on their behalf, or what.

“Violence is not the answer,” Castiel said softly. All eyes swiveled to him on the spot, to where he was staring pointedly at his breakfast plate, a grim frown on his face. He glanced up when the room went quiet and seemed a little put off by the sudden attention. “I just mean that it has never gotten anyone anywhere in the history of the human race,” he added.

“Cas is right,” Dean agreed. He settled against the back of his chair with a sigh. “Doesn’t excuse what he did, but you all know he’s not gonna change his mind, and at the end of the day he’s still family.”

“Piss poor excuse of it,” Bobby grumbled under his breath.

Dean heard it and felt his lips twist into a wry smile.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Well, he doesn’t speak for the rest of us,” Jessica said. She leaned forward from across the table, twirling her fork between her fingers absentmindedly. Her light blue eyes swept from Dean to Cas, then back again. They were soft and kind. “I think I speak for the table when I say we all love you for exactly who you are,” she said. She met Dean’s eyes when she said it.

Dean looked down at his plate with a light blush blooming across his nose. He really didn’t know what to say to that, so after a few seconds of awkward silence he ended up with a mumbled, “Thanks, Jess.”

He was about to say something more when there was the sound of the doorbell ringing.

John pushed up from the table.

“I’ll get it,” he said.

Minutes later, Deanna walked into the room with a loaf of freshly baked bread.

“I thought I should at least drop this off,” she said by way of greeting.

“Come on, Dee, stay a while,” Jody spoke up.

“Yeah, Gran, there’s plenty of food,” Sam said. He pulled out the empty chair next to him.

“Well, alright,” Deanna relented. She passed John the loaf of bread and sat down in the offered seat. Then she turned to Castiel. “I wanted to apologize for last night,” she said, pinning blue eyes with bright forest green. Dean had her eyes, Castiel noted, and her smile, and the way her eyes crinkled up at the corners.

“I ahh…thank you, Deanna,” Castiel murmured, looking down at his eggs, “but it is not necessary.”

“Of course it is,” Deanna argued. Castiel looked up and at once caught a piece of Dean’s fiery spirit in the older woman’s eyes. “He’s my husband. I’ve been cleaning up his messes for near on forty years now.” She frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. He should be here to apologize himself, but he refused to come.” Her eyes turned sad. “I’m sorry, dear,” she told Castiel.

“Gran, do you think he…” Dean trailed off and jabbed at his eggs, frowning deeply. He cleared his throat. “Never mind,” he finished.

“He’s a stubborn old coot,” Deanna replied, seeming to get what Dean was too afraid to ask, “But I’ll work him over.” A sly grin stretched her aged face into beautiful wrinkles. “I always do.”

“Thanks, gran,” Dean said roughly.

Just then Ellen returned from the kitchen with a plate of food for Deanna and breakfast continued in a cheerier, although still somewhat subdued manner.

* * *

With breakfast over, it was time to hit the road. Dean and Cas retreated back upstairs to pack, or rather—Dean packed, leaving Cas to explore Dean’s childhood room as he stuffed everything back into their shared suitcase. Castiel had finished well before breakfast and now stood in front of Dean’s bookshelf, picking over the titles of the books that rested on the dusty shelves. Dean stopped packing for a minute and came up behind him. He watched the man for a beat and then carded his hand through Castiel’s hair.

“Hey,” he said softly, “You okay?”

Castiel’s eyes rested on a familiar looking green paperback and pulled it from the shelf. _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance._ It was the same book John had given him after the accident. He held it in his casted right hand and thumbed through it absentmindedly as Dean waited patiently for him to respond.

“I will be alright,” Castiel assured him, not looking up.

Dean scratched at the back of his head, his fingers playing with the soft tendrils of hair at the nape of Castiel’s neck. He didn’t say anything more, but his silence and the frown Castiel found on his face when he looked up gave him away. Castiel closed the book and turned toward him fully. He pressed his good hand against the side of Dean’s face. 

“Dean, I am not second-guessing this,” Castiel told him, “I love you. With or without your grandfather’s approval.” He attempted a warm smile, but feared it fell a little flat. “Your family is wonderful, Dean, truly, with the one exception. I feel incredibly blessed to be here despite everything that happened.”

“Really?” Dean asked him.

Castiel nodded. This time when he smiled, it was genuine.

“Really,” he answered.

A light blush rose across Dean’s cheeks, and he looked pleased by Castiel’s reply. He moved away back to the suitcase and spent the next few minutes stuffing things into it, humming under his breath. The lyrics to his mother’s favorite song drifted through Castiel’s mind.

Castiel watched him, letting the intimacy of the moment settle between them like a warm blanket. He drew his attention back to the book and flipped to the first page.

There were notes in the margins, comments that Dean had scribbled next to the parts of the book where he had something to say. He skimmed over them, flipping through the pages. He found one that drew his attention.

On the page, one of the characters was commenting about watching people in their cars as they commuted to work on a mundane, Monday morning.

 _“It’s just that they looked so lost,”_ the character in the book said, _“Like they were all dead. Like it was a funeral procession.”_

And in the margin, Dean had written, _God, don’t let that be me._

Something about it moved Castiel. It was like he could feel a young Dean Winchester bleeding through the pages of his favorite book, hoping for a future that was different from the one his father had carved out for him.

“Dean,” Castiel spoke up suddenly. When Dean glanced up to look at him, Castiel gestured with the book. “May I borrow this?”

Dean blinked, looking a little surprised.

“What, that old thing?” he said. He shrugged. “Sure, I guess, but…what’dya need another copy for?”

Castiel smiled secretly to himself and thought up a quick, appropriate lie.

“I would like something to read on the plane,” he said. Read the book, or read Dean’s comments in it? It was only a small difference.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. He went back to packing. Castiel’s smile grew. He flipped through the pages, searching for more insights into the person Dean used to be—before his mother had died and he went off to college, and before the tabloids had started printing weekly articles about his sexual escapades.

When he was finished packing, Dean lugged everything downstairs, with Castiel following quietly behind him with the book. John was in the doorway, propping it open with a suitcase as he carted bags of things from the entryway to the car. It was already running in the driveway, trunk open and nearly filled. Dean set their suitcase down in front of the door so that he could say his goodbyes.

Bobby, Jody, and Alex would be headed back to Sioux Falls, Ellen to back to her bar in Nebraska, and Sam and Jess to California. Jo was catching a different flight back to New York later that day so that she could help her mother and Deanna close up the house, and lingered in the hallway with them.

Castiel was nervous around Deanna as they said their goodbyes, Dean with his arms wrapped around Deanna’s short, thin frame. Dean pressed a kiss to her cheek with a bright smile as he bid her farewell. Castiel hung back, silent and unsure how to leave things between them. Dean turned to him with a worried look on his face, and when Deanna noticed Castiel’s hesitancy she stepped forward and gestured with open arms.

“Come here, hon,” the older woman said, drawing Castiel into her strong embrace, “When’s the last time you had a good old-fashioned mom hug, hmm?” she teased lightly.

Castiel smiled and laughed softly, hugging her back.

“It has been years,” he confessed, blushing slightly as he pulled away and Deanna caught him with a soft peck to the cheek. Cas raised his hand to his face, surprised by the affectionate gesture.

“You’re one of the family, now,” Deanna said. She looked over at Dean, a canny look in her eyes. “Ain’t that right?”

Dean blinked at her and blushed deeply.

“Gran, would you stop—” Dean broke off at the curious look Castiel was giving him, the nerves jittering under his skin. “Look, you can’t just decide that,” he finished weakly.

“Sure I can,” Deanna told him, hands on her hips. “What else is old age good for? If I wait for you to say it, I’ll be dead first.”

“I wouldn’t—look can we just—” Dean stuttered.

“Dean, she is teasing you,” Castiel reassured him.

“Come on, Cas, you telling me you don’t—you’re—aww _hell_. Can we just go, please?” Dean finished, turning away. He brought a hand up to his mouth and made a beeline for the front door, grabbing their shared suitcase on the way. 

Castiel turned back to Deanna with a soft smile on his face.

“I will let you know how the rest of this conversation goes,” Castiel told her. He drew the woman into another tight embrace. “Thank you, Deanna,” he said emphatically.

“Take care, dear,” Deanna replied with a pat to his cheek, letting him go.

The drive to the airport was silent, with Dean for the most part staring out the window. He would glance over at Castiel every now and then, his eyes flighty and nervous, then immediately turn away when Castiel noticed him watching. Finally after nearly an hour of this, Castiel placed a hand on his thigh and gave it a little squeeze.

“Dean,” he said softly.

Dean finally looked him in the eyes, his own widened in fear.

“Cas, this really isn’t a good time,” Dean told him quickly. His eyes flitted to the stoic figure of his father driving the rental car, to the thin line of his lips as he pretended not to be listening.

“I realize that,” Castiel told him, “but I want to say this anyway.”

Dean swallowed nervously and nodded, dragging in a deep breath for courage.

“I have never known a family who accepted me for who I am,” Castiel said in a low voice. He smiled softly at Dean. “I hope I will get the chance to get to know yours better.”

Dean swallowed again, looking down at his lap as he blinked rapidly. Stupid emotions and his stupid heart beating double-time against his chest.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, his voice raw with emotion, “Me too.” He cleared his throat suddenly, changing the subject. “Hey, what’dya say we take that weekend away when we get back, just the two of us?” Dean suggested, “Like we talked about. The weather’s supposed to hold, fingers crossed, so I say we go for it. When’s the last time you had a vacation, huh?”

“Dean, I haven’t worked in almost a month. I am already on a vacation,” Castiel replied.

“Getting hit by a car doesn’t count as a _vacation_ , Cas,” Dean told him in a deadpan. He dropped his voice to where his father wouldn’t be able to hear him and whispered in Castiel’s ear. “Think about it. You, me, a fireplace. Cozy flannel PJs and old woolen blankets. Fresh trout and pancakes for breakfast. Chocolate and wine after dark, and then I’ll take you on a pile of quilts next to the fire, make you beg for more.”

Castiel leaned into him at the picture that painted, the heat rising under his skin.

“That does sound nice,” he murmured.

Dean grinned at him shamelessly and played with the soft strands of hair at the nape of Castiel’s neck.

“I take it that’s a yes?” he pressed.

Castiel shot him a sidelong look that said _what do you think_ , but still responded with a, “Yes.”

“Heh, awesome,” Dean said.

* * *

Castiel had the book he took from Dean’s room open on his lap the moment they settled into first class. He thumbed through it, reading the sections where Dean had commented and then the comments themselves. He smiled every now and then at some of Dean’s reactions to certain things—an exclamation point here, a ‘ _Woah!’_ there. There was even a doodle that he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was supposed to be.

He nudged Dean, who had earbuds in and was attempting to blast his flying nerves away with Metallica.

“Dean.” Dean just kept bobbing his head, eyes shut as he listened to the music. Castiel gave him another nudge. This time Dean looked over and pulled the earbuds out of his ears.

“What’s up?”

Castiel pointed to the doodle in the book.

“What is that?” he asked.

Dean squinted, turned his head, squinted harder, and then had to grab the book from Cas and bring it in close to his nose to figure it out.

“Oh,” he said when he did, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “That’s a guy getting his mind blown. Y’know, mushroom cloud coming out of the top of a guy’s head?”

“Oh is that all?” Castiel replied, quirking his eyebrow at him. Dean’s lips quirked into a smile as he handed him the book back.

“How’d you get that far in so quick?” Dean asked, “Did you just start at a random page?”

“Oh. No, I’ve been reading your comments,” Castiel told him.

“Wh-what?” Dean blurted. He sat up in his chair a little straighter and stared blankly at Cas. “What—what’re you reading those for?” he asked with a much higher than normal pitch to his voice.

“I like them,” Castiel said simply. He smiled, peaceful and closed his eyes briefly. “I like thinking about how you were back when you first read this book. I like discovering how you think and learning this private aspect of who you are. It is almost like reading your diary.”

“Wh—” Dean’s lips puffed out a little in his embarrassment. His cheeks burned, and his heart felt all weirdly twisted but in a good way. Like, in a very, _very_ good way. The only thing he could think to say was, “I don’t have a diary.”

“Then this will have to do,” Castiel said. He flipped back a couple pages. “I liked this part here,” he said, pointing. Dean read the lines and grinned. They were the parts about the author’s custom of reading with his son. Not reading to—in the book the father described reading aloud for only a few sentences or paragraphs at a time and then stopping to discuss with his son and answer any questions he might have. “Yeah, I did too.” Dean nudged Cas’s arm. “We can do that, you know,” he said, “I always kinda wanted to try it.”

Castiel twisted in his seat to look at him a little better, surprised that Dean would be interested in doing something like that with him. The look on Dean’s face was quickly becoming embarrassed again, his smile fading and the crinkles around his eyes falling back into the skin around them at his rising uncertainty. Castiel sent him an affectionate smile and thumbed back to the front of the book.

“Shall we start at the beginning?” he suggested.

Dean nodded, so Castiel brought his head in a little closer, leaning into Dean over his armrest and holding the book between them, and began.

It turned out that reading and discussing literature worked a hell of a lot better to ease Dean’s fear of flying than drowning it out with rock and roll—a classic over the classics. They spent the whole flight discussing just the first few pages. Dean all but forgot he was on an airplane, and Castiel forgot all about the distasteful experience with his grandfather. They were pointed home, and just before they landed and Castiel closed the book, they made a mutual agreement to continue reading later that night.

_After_ Dean ravaged Castiel into a satisfied puddle in the comfort of their own bed, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> I hope you all liked it! Didn't think I was going to make this in time for the holidays, to be honest. A good chunk of this was written ON Thanksgiving with a turkey in the oven (it came out awesome btw) and pies baking and everything. I wrote this in my mom's friend's piano room. It was pretty freaking awesome ambiance and I owe a lot of this chapter to her for throwing together an absolutely wonderful dinner despite plans being a super last minute. :3
> 
> Couple things surprised me in this chapter. First was Ellen and John. I swear that was in no way planned!! The second was how fucking _awesome_ Alex is. I found myself appreciating her character so freaking much here. The third was all the singing. I intended on Cas and Alex singing, not on Dean chiming in too, but hey, the boy was insistent. For those interested, Dean is singing Alice and Cooper's "You and Me," and Cas responds with Rod Stewart's "You're In My Heart." I've had both stuck in my head on repeat for near on two weeks now and it's awesome. Still working on putting together a formal soundtrack that I plan on releasing once this whole thing is finished.
> 
> Really looking forward to next chapter's trip away to Rufus's cabin!! Gonna try my best to get through most the chapter this weekend so that I can be on time to post for next week. Please kudos and comment! I love hearing what y'all have to say. :D


	18. Deepening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean and Cas spend a weekend away at Rufus's cabin and they both come to a couple of very important decisions.

* * *

The weekend following Thanksgiving, they packed up Baby, put her in drive, and motored out to the deep mountainous regions of Upstate New York.

Dean had been wanting to take Cas away for months, and was ecstatic that he was finally getting the chance. After everything that had happened—between all the craziness of life in the city, the accident and what had happened at Thanksgiving, not to mention Christmas looming on the horizon, he was looking forward to a couple of days alone together. Completely alone—no distractions, no outside obligations or phone calls or trips down the block to grab takeout or watch a movie.

Because one, there was no cell service where they were going.

And two, because Rufus’s cabin didn’t have electricity.

Dean was determined that things go well. When they got back from Lawrence and Cas and him had fallen into Dean’s bed after a long day of travel and family, the feeling of Castiel just being there next to him in his bed had felt like coming home. It was then that Dean knew.

He wanted Cas _there_ with him, and he wanted it for good.

Dean had packed with him a different book for this trip, something to go along with the theme of where they were headed. It was the first book he had ever read, and it had been his favorite long before _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_ had replaced it in his late teens. It was thin, a kid’s book really, but it held up over the years. Dean was confident they could make their way through it over the course of the weekend together.

When they _weren’t_ fucking by the fireplace, that is.

He figured hell, they could fuck like woodland creatures and then read a little while they took breaks in between. Occasionally they’d eat. They’d packed plenty of food, including an entire strawberry and cream pie from the café on Fifth. It was a good plan.

Dean had the windows of the Impala cracked and the radio turned up, blasting AC/DC out the speakers to the rest of the dense forest they were driving through. Castiel bobbed his head along with the music, tapping his fingers on his knee to the beat. He never missed a one, Dean noticed.

Similar to the way they now read together each night before bed, (something they learned they both looked forward to almost as much as a good soiree in the sheets) where they would stop every few paragraphs to discuss the content, Dean would pause the tape every now and then so they could discuss the song. Castiel spent a good portion of the drive explaining the musical techniques and themes he noticed, and Dean listened— _fascinated_ —as his favorite artists were picked apart by a musical ear.

“Cas, man, you _gotta_ go to school for music,” Dean told him, face about as serious as Castiel had ever seen it. Dean shook his head, trying to think of a way to get him to understand what Dean had seen all along—that he was born to music and doing anything else with his life just made no fucking sense. He shook his head again and just said, “You just got to.”

For the first time in the few times Dean had brought it up, Castiel didn’t brush the suggestion off immediately. Maybe because they had spent so much time over the past week discussing opinions and concepts and learning the differences in the way they thought. Instead he sat quietly for a long minute and considered it.

“I am not sure I am ready to take that leap,” Castiel said finally to Dean. He looked over, face serious, “But if that changes, I will let you know.”

“Fair enough,” Dean said. He repositioned his hands on the steering wheel. “Don’t think this means I’m giving up,” he said with a sidelong glance to his boyfriend.

Castiel smiled and bowed his head.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he murmured.

He looked at Dean then, his face beaming and his eyes bright. Dean loved the way Cas looked at him, smile wide and face soft—looked at him like he was fresh and brand new and perfect in every possible way.

Cas also liked his car, and Dean was starting to think that this might be it. He was in deep, past the point of no return or whatever it was called. He was ruined forever for anyone else and there was just no turning back—because Baby seemed to like Cas too. It wasn’t something that anyone other than Dean would be able to detect. In fact, he would be downright nuts to admit to it out loud, but after years with Baby, Dean had developed a sort of sixth sense, ‘lady muse’ relationship with her. The way she drove with Cas in the passenger seat was just _different_ than all the other times Dean had driven her. She practically purred contentment under the hood as he coasted her down the hills and accelerated into the curves.

The three hour drive passed in the blink of an eye, and before they knew it Dean was turning Baby down a long, winding dirt road.

They lost cell service two miles in.

The cabin rose into view at the crest of a small hill, surrounded by a grove of towering white pine which loomed over it. A small pond rested in the lee of the rolling slope, its waters gentle and clear as glass with how cold it had been. A few lingering vestiges of ice clung to the shoreline, refusing to dissolve until spring. Though it had been mild weather in the city, here winter decided to announce itself loudly with frequent snaps of wind splitting through the trees. It still hadn’t snowed, thankfully, which is how they were able to come here so late in the season. No way was Dean taking Baby out on the salted roads.

The cabin was hidden far back in the Catskill Mountains of Upstate New York—the kind of place no typical city-dweller would ever think to spend a romantic weekend away. It wasn’t like Saratoga Springs or Hudson Valley—bustling upper class swag, vegan restaurants and hipster cafés. No. It was a hunting lodge first and foremost. The nearest town was a good twenty miles away and there were no neighbors. To that end, the amenities were rather lacking. There was a wood stove in one corner and a working toilet, but no hot water. Next to the toilet was a rusty old clawfoot tub not hooked up to anything because there was nothing to hook it up to. There was a fireplace and a couple of oil lamps to light the room after dark, but that was about it.

Castiel’s first thought upon surveying the room was that washing up was going to get very interesting. He very much hoped Dean was as good at building a fire as he boasted, because his second thought was about how goddamn _cold_ the place was without one.

“Dean, it is freezing in here,” Castiel said as soon as he stepped through the door. Dean nodded and placed a hand at his back, steering him further inside the doorway so that he could enter fully and close it behind him. “Yeah, I know. Hold your horses, I’ve got this.”

Dean tossed some kindling and a couple logs into the fireplace and then scrunched up some newspaper from the bin by the woodpile. Then he grabbed the bottle of lighter fluid next to that and gave everything a liberal dose.

It caught immediately on the matchbook he threw onto the pile.

“I hope that wasn’t our only matchbook,” Castiel said to him.

Dean laughed.

“Naw, I brought a bag,” he said, “I collect ‘em from places I pass through. Never really had a use for them until now. Hell of a lot easier to start a fire with the whole book than it is one lousy matchstick.”

Castiel inched closer to the fire and warmed his hands.

“I am very grateful to your hobby,” he said, meaning it.

Dean chuckled softly and came up behind him, swaying his hips so that his front rubbed against Castiel’s ass. He leaned down to press a kiss at the crook between his neck and the top of his shoulder.

“Gonna take you right here in front of the fire,” Dean purred low against his skin, “like I promised.”

Castiel whimpered a little at that and arched back against him.

“I am waiting,” he said, breathless.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Nearly an hour later, they were both sweating and breathing heavily, tangled in the pile of quilts that Dean had dragged off the bed, and the heat being thrown off the fire was almost too much to bear.

“Got an idea,” Dean said suddenly with a wicked grin, pulling Castiel to his feet. “Follow me!” He tugged Castiel behind him, running for the front door.

A blast of cold air hit them as soon as they passed through it. Castiel gasped and wound his free arm around his naked torso.

“Dean! We are naked!” he shouted, as if Dean hadn’t noticed.

“Cas, we’re in the middle of absolute _nowhere_!” Dean called back to him, turning around to grin at him.

“What are we doing out here, Dean?” Castiel asked him next. Dean tugged him toward the pond.

“We’re going for a dip,” he declared, pulling at Castiel’s hand.

Castiel tugged back.

“Dean, I can’t! My cast!” he reminded him.

Dean skidded to a halt and cursed, loudly. “Damnit!” he said, “Well okay, just keep it out of the water.”

Castiel barely had time to protest before he was being pulled down the gently sloping bank and into the freezing cold water.

“ _DEAN!!!_ ” Castiel bellowed when they were up to their waists and Dean was still tugging him forward, laughing like a hyena.

Castiel stumbled into a deeper section of the pond with a loud yelp and suddenly the water was up over his chest. He stopped and stood with his cast arm raised above his head, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He turned, shocked, to his boyfriend. Dean—annoyingly enough—was treading water frantically and still laughing at him. He swam closer and pulled Castiel into his body, deliciously warm.

“Hurry, rub all the stink off before your testicles shrivel up into your throat,” Dean told him.

Ah, so that was the point of this adventure? Castiel began to immediately scrub the sweat from their foray in front of the fireplace from his quickly chilling skin, with Dean’s help in the areas where keeping his hand above water while reaching around with his non-dominant one became too awkward. At one point Dean had a hand on his cast, holding it up out of the water as he scrubbed Castiel’s back down with the other. In just a few short minutes, Cas was following Dean back to shore and running naked, blue, and shivering back inside to the fire to dry.

Dean’s teeth chattered loudly as he laughed and drew Castiel against him in front of the fire, much in the way this whole thing had first begun. He rubbed Castiel’s arms to get the blood flowing back to his fingers and then looped his arms around his torso, pressing them together.

The water had barely dried from his skin before Dean was once more leaning down to press his lips against Castiel’s neck. It was kind of Dean’s move, he’d noticed.

“Dean, if we are just going to get dirty again, then what was the point of that?” Castiel asked him with an amused grin. Not that he was complaining. Something about the plunge into freezing cold water had revitalized him, brought the blood rushing through his body and the light back behind his eyes. In fact, he felt like he could go three rounds in front of the fire, but he also wanted Dean to work for it a little.

“How about I heat you up some bath water next time,” Dean murmured against his skin, pressing another slow kiss to the crook of his neck, “Sound good?”

Castiel sucked in his breath and tried to fight the keening desire to just melt against Dean and surrender to his ministrations. The other part of him _really_ wanted to make Dean beg a little.

So he grunted, “Mmm. Maybe.”

He sounded disinterested, offhand. A little annoyed. That was good. Dean frowned against his skin and bit down, tugging at it.

“I know how much you like a bath, Cas, don’t even lie,” Dean said against his skin as he let go. He licked a slow strip up the length of neck he’d just had between his teeth. Castiel drew in another breath and tried to control the shudder that rolled through him. He was only half successful. Dean grinned at the reaction and hummed into his skin. “I could take you in the tub too, little Ducky.”

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas a little tighter, drawing him closer. Castiel couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped as he did, overwhelmed with the feeling of being so entirely enveloped in the fold of Dean’s body around him and his lips suctioned at his neck.

It was _extremely_ hard to keep resisting when Dean moved on to his ear, lightly tugging at the lobe with his teeth. Castiel groaned and gave in, melting against him and pressing the groove of his ass back into the hard line of Dean’s cock. Dean gripped him around the hips and lowered them onto the pile of quilts next to the fire. 

Dean brought out the book he’d packed only when they were so worn out they could barely roll over without tremendous effort. He scooted closer to Cas, laying ass up in front of the fire on his stomach. He propped up on his elbows as he held the book out in front of him, opened it to the first page and started to read.

“ _I am on my mountain in a tree home that people have passed without ever knowing that I am here..._ ”

They read in front of the fire until Castiel started to fall asleep. Dean thought, _what the hell_ and dragged the mattress from the bed over to the hearth and rolled them into it. Just before drifting off, he threw another log on the glowing embers.

* * *

When he awoke, the room was bitter cold. Dean cursed under his breath and shivered, seeking warmth in the man curled up by his side. He pressed his nose into Castiel’s back and wormed his arms around him, wiggling closer.

Castiel jerked awake when his cold toes slid up the backs of his calves.

“Dean! Your feet—quit it!”

“But I’m cold,” Dean whined at him.

Castiel flopped over so that he was facing Dean and pillowed his head under his hand. He squint-glared at Dean. “Then get up and make a fire,” he said.

“It’s your turn,” Dean grumbled, drawing the covers up over his chin and speaking through them.

“I don’t know how,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean grunted at that, then threw off the blankets.

“Fine,” he pouted, “But I’m teaching you later.”

Once he was up and moving and had the fire going, Dean found he wasn’t all that cold or even tired any longer. In fact, he caught a pleasant smile on his face as he went to the mirror for a shave, despite the water in the basin being so cold it practically burned his skin. He even hummed a little while he worked.

He started when he realized the tune and the words drifted into his head. _‘Our House_ _is a very, very, very fine house…’_

Dean shook his head and swished the razor around in the basin. It was just a cabin, Dean told himself fiercely. They didn’t own it. They didn’t live here. They were just visiting.

Still, it brought something else important to the forefront of his mind.

Dean finished with his shave and as he was drying his face he decided to do something about it. First though, he was going to catch them some breakfast.

Dean dragged on a pair of long underwear and jeans, then added an extra layer of shirts to his typical ensemble. He’d grabbed his dad’s old coat from the house in Lawrence and shrugged that on too. He was glad he had thought to bring it and the one Cas had worn back with them.

He grabbed the fishing pole leaning up in the corner, pausing to press a kiss to the top of Castiel’s head—it was just poking out from where he slept soundly under the covers—and then left his softly snoring boyfriend curled up in front of the fire.

Dean whistled on his way down to the dock with a folding chair under one arm, pole and tackle box in the other. He set these down on the small wooden dock overlooking the pond as he set up the chair, then got what he needed out of the tackle box and went about setting the hook.

He tried to remember the last time he’d been fishing by himself. Or fishing period, for that matter.

There had been the trip two years ago on his buddy’s fishing boat. They’d caught shark and tuna and a couple other things Dean forgot the names of. But that had been deep sea fishing—hectic and loud and somewhat dangerous, especially with the amount of beer they were all drinking on that trip—but that was what made it fun. It was so very different from this kind of fishing.

As he tossed the hook into the water and settled back into his chair, he decided it really had been too long.

Castiel found him just as the sun was starting to peak out over the tops of the trees. A light fog rose up from the surface of the pond, hanging in the air like a veil. It spread a hush over the early morning that made everything feel suspended between one breath and the next. Frost twinkled in the grass and at the tips of the tall spikes of cattails that clustered near the shore opposite them.

If Dean had to guess, it was barely seven in the morning. Castiel passed a gloriously scorching mug of coffee into his hands and dropped a hand on his shoulder as he looked out over the still, calm water. Dean gripped the mug with a hiss, loving the burn of porcelain against his cold-hardened hands. He brought it up to his lips heedless of its temperature and downed a few long, searing gulps of it. He looked up at Castiel’s pleased face when he lowered it from his lips.

“Holy crap, thank you,” Dean said, grinning up at him, “I needed that like you wouldn’t believe.”

Castiel leaned down to kiss him, curling fingers up into the hair at the nape of his neck and caressing his scalp in soft, scratching motions.

“I thought it might be appreciated,” he said in that low, gravelly morning voice of his when he pulled back. His hand stayed in Dean’s hair, and Dean leaned into his touch, closing his eyes briefly.

“How did you make it anyway? The coffee,” Dean asked, “Mr. ‘I can’t make fire?’”

“I used the camp stove,” Castiel said, unabashedly.

“Aww, you mean you cheated!” Dean griped, “I thought we were goin’ for a ‘technology free’ weekend?”

“Perhaps you are. I needed coffee before sunset,” Castiel replied dryly. He drew his attention to the fishing pole under Dean’s boot. “How is the fishing?” he asked.

Dean grunted. “Lousy,” he said, “I’ve been out here since five but I haven’t caught anything.” He felt like he should maybe feel more disappointed about that, but all he could feel was relaxed and at peace.

“Perhaps you will now that I’m here,” Castiel said hopefully.

“What are you, the fish whisperer?” Dean asked him.

“I _am_ named after an angel,” Castiel pointed out, “I expect magically conjuring fish isn’t entirely out of the scope of a celestial being’s ability.” There was a slight quirk to his lips.

“Hah,” Dean let out sarcastically, “Aren’t you clever.” He dragged Castiel closer and down onto his lap. “Now come here, keep me warm.”

An hour later he had five nice trout.

Castiel tried not to look smug as Dean scooped up the line of them from the grass and passed him the pole to carry so that he could grab the box of tackle. Castiel had the chair under his other arm—they were afraid to leave it out on the dock in case of a large gust of wind, even if it had been eerily absent so far that morning.

They started up the hill to the cabin, Dean still whistling the tune from that morning.

 _‘I’ll light the fire while you place the flowers in the vase that you bought today_ …’

He had breakfast searing in cornmeal and butter over the wood stove in a little under an hour. He set the plate of freshly-caught trout and eggs down in front of Cas feeling pretty damn proud of himself.

“This looks wonderful,” Castiel told him as he adjusted the plate to his liking. He waited for Dean to sit down so that they could say grace. He picked up his fork once they had and hummed his approval after the first bite. “This is very, _very_ good fish.”

Dean grinned into his breakfast.

“Yeah, this rocks,” he said, _definitely_ with a bit of a proud smirk on his face. He shrugged. “I mean, I packed some store-bought trout just in case I struck out but…it’s just not the same, you know?”

“Yes, the freshly caught stuff always tastes the best,” Castiel agreed.

“You ever been fishing before, Cas?” Dean asked him.

Castiel nodded.

“Yes, with my father. But not since I was very, very young. There was a church camping trip every summer. We would all go, my mother included. I was too young to handle a fishing pole but my father would take me with him because he always seemed to catch the most fish with me sitting by his side.”

“So you _are_ the fish whisperer,” Dean teased.

Castiel shrugged and smiled a little.

“He called me his lucky charm.”

His face tightened suddenly and he looked down to his plate. Dean grew quiet, not quite knowing what to say. Castiel very rarely talked about his family. Every time he did Dean had to keep reminding himself that they weren’t bad people and that up until what happened with Balthazar, they had been a happy family—that they still loved Castiel, despite him leaving and running away without a word to the city.

Where he would eventually meet Dean and get hit by a car and fall in love.

“Cas,” Dean said abruptly. He suddenly couldn’t wait any longer. He had to know. “Will you move in with me?”

Castiel froze, his shoulders going stiff. He looked up at Dean with his eyes blown wide.

Dean reached across the table and grabbed his hand.

“I mean it,” he pressed, “Move in with me. When we get back. Not just temporarily, for real.” He took in a sharp breath and added a, “Please,” as an afterthought. And then, in a sudden flurry of insecurity he blurted, “I mean, if you want to. If it isn’t too soon.”

Castiel’s shock melted into a soft smile at that and he chuckled, looking at Dean shyly.

“Dean, I would love to move in with you,” he said in a low gravel. Then, even softer, “It may not be a house, but it is very fine regardless.”

Dean let out a surprised burst of laughter. He’d been whistling that tune all morning, and of course Castiel had recognized it. It had been playing in the car yesterday.

His chest felt impossibly warm. He swallowed, gripping Castiel’s hand across the table a little tighter. He wanted to say something more, about how excited he was, about how many things he was looking forward to—but was unable to find the words to say any of it.

“Please promise me we won’t get any cats,” Castiel said abruptly, cutting into the moment, “I am allergic.”

That broke the tension. Castiel sent Dean a crooked grin that had him roaring in laughter.

Oh yeah, they were going to work out _just_ fine.

Dean went back out to the dock to fish after breakfast was cleaned up. Not because they needed more fish, although hey— _awesome_ —but because it had warmed up a little now that the sun had rose higher in the sky and it was so utterly gorgeous that Dean was looking forward to just sitting out in the fresh mountain air with a rod between his legs.

There was plenty of time to have a different kind of rod between his legs later.

Oh, and there was _pie_ too. How could he have forgotten about the pie? He had _plans_ for that pie.

Castiel followed him outside, dragging along his own chair so that he could join Dean comfortably rather than perch awkwardly on his lap. He brought the book too, pinching it under his armpit as he set up his chair. He fumbled a little with the cast, but he was so good now at working around it that it barely slowed him down.

He’d gotten very good with his left hand too, Dean noted offhandedly—no pun intended, really, and nothing at all to do with the masterful hand job Cas had given him with it the night before.

Castiel settled into the chair and opened the book to where they had left off. In the book, the main character had just caught some fish and lit his first fire from flint and steel.

“ _I must say this now about that first fire. It was magic. Out of dead tinder and grass and sticks came a live warm light…_ ”

Castiel stopped at the end of the page.

“The fire yesterday was like that,” he commented.

“The one this morning was pretty awesome too,” Dean added, “And the fish. Cooking ‘em over that wood stove was fuckin’ unreal.”

Castiel grinned.

“You know, we don’t do that bad living off the land like the boy in this book,” he mused. He tilted his head, thinking about that and then reconsidering. “Well, _you_ don’t. I don’t know how to fish _or_ make a fire.” He frowned, seeming suddenly worried. “I am afraid I don’t have much to…contribute to this relationship.”

“You’re the fish whisperer,” Dean reminded him, “That counts. And you’re the coffee bringer. And a fire dancer.” At the confused look Cas shot him at that last one, Dean grinned wolfishly at him and explained. “Last night, in front of the fire,” he said. He leaned into Cas’s chair, breathed the next words against the skin just under his ear. “The way you writhed under me as I fucked you…”

He pressed a kiss at Castiel’s neck. Castiel made an irritated noise and pulled back, looking at him unimpressed.

“Dean, I was being serious,” he said with a slight frown.

Dean pouted a little. “So was I,” he said. He huffed, exasperated. “Cas, you don’t need to know how to make a fire or catch a fish. You got me.”

Castiel looked down, felt uneasy about them for the first time in a long time. Dean didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

“I don’t want to rely on you too much,” he murmured. He felt the burn of admitting it prickling at his cheeks.

Dean was silent for a beat. Then he slipped a hand behind Castiel’s neck and pulled him in until their foreheads rested together.

“Cas, that’s not how this works,” Dean said gently.

Castiel swallowed thickly, wondering if he looked at all as terrified as he felt.

“Then tell me, Dean. How does this work?” he asked.

Dean made a small humming noise, something fond that a parent might make toward a child who had yet to learn about the world.

“This works with you letting me take care of you,” Dean told him, “Cuz I want to. Cuz I love you.”

He pressed his lips in to Castiel’s just in case he wasn’t quite getting it. Slow and tender, like a breath of fresh air.

“Dean, I…must admit I am…nervous about moving in with you,” Castiel said when they broke apart. He rushed to explain. “I want to, and a large part of me is excited. But letting go of everything I’ve worked so hard for… My apartment. Dean, I—I was so grateful when I first got that apartment that I didn’t care you could reach the stove from the toilet. I was so happy to have a place to call my own—a place to come home to—that I honestly wished for nothing more and—and now—now _this_ and—Dean, it’s too much.” Castiel shook his head, the onset of tears making his vision blur before him. He couldn’t tell Dean’s reaction, couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“Cas.” The way Dean called his name so softly, with such affection had him breaking. Castiel let out his breath in a gust, the tears coming with it.

“Dean, I know what I said but I’m not sure I can do it,” he confessed. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I want to move in with you. I do. But when I think about giving up my apartment—” He broke off, feeling the panic pressing against his chest and making it hard to breathe.

“Cas, I’m not asking you to give anything up here,” Dean said.

Castiel blinked the tears out of his eyes so that he could look at Dean fully.

“What?” he blurted.

“I’m not sayin’ you gotta get rid of your apartment,” Dean repeated, “I’m just asking you to move in with me. If you feel like you still need to hang onto it, I’m okay with that. You do what you need to.”

Dean looked down between them, threaded his fingers through Castiel’s and gripped their hands together.

“I know we’ve been moving kinda fast,” Dean continued, “And I know you’ve been hurt in the past. I know you got trust issues cuz of that.”

Castiel opened his mouth to deny it, but Dean raised his hand to silence him.

“Don’t,” he said, “You and I both know it’s a lie. Look, I’m not blaming you, Cas. I’m saying I get it and I’m willing to do whatever you need to get there.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, “It’s not you. I know that sounds like a bad cliché, but I swear that’s not it.”

Dean laughed a little at that.

“I know it isn’t,” he said. “That’s how come I can be okay with it.” He paused, seeming to consider whether he should say more or not. “You’re not letting it hold you back, Cas,” he added, “That’s what counts.”

Castiel’s breath sputtered out in a rain of tears. He nodded vigorously, squeezing his eyes shut tightly against the rising relief. How was it that Dean could always make him feel this way? Like there was nothing wrong with him? Like nothing in him was broken and needed to be fixed? That it was _okay_ to be exactly who he was with all his seeming flaws and hang-ups?

He gripped their hands together a little tighter and whispered, “Thank you, Dean. Thank you.”

Then Cas was kissing him to drive the point home.

* * *

They spent nearly the entire day out on the dock together, with Dean fishing and Castiel reading aloud next to him. He didn’t catch anything more, but then again they didn’t really need it. They still had plenty of fish left over from that morning.

Dean showed Cas how to make a fire as he had promised and then they curled up in front of it, naked yet cozy under several layers of quilts.

Dean was just licking down Castiel’s chest when he remembered the pie. He ginned into Castiel’s skin and left a kiss where his mouth was, envisioning how it would taste with the sharp, buttery sweetness of strawberries and cream. He made a noise low in his throat that sounded like _“Mmmm.”_

Castiel squirmed under him a little.

“You are thinking about the pie,” he said. There was amusement in his voice.

Dean pressed another kiss to his navel and hummed into him.

“You know me so well,” he murmured.

Dean rolled out of bed and tip-toed quickly across the freezing stone floor to the stove. He’d put the pie on top of it after dinner once it had cooled a little to heat it up from the natural chill of the cabin. It was nice and bubbly warm. He grabbed the can of whipped cream from the counter and two forks, not even bothering with plates or anything and carted the whole thing back to their bed by the fire.

Dean lowered down on one knee and popped open the lid of the box. He placed the whole thing down next to Castiel on the bed and jabbed a fork into the center.

Castiel propped up on his elbows and leaned forward to catch it falling off the fork. He almost missed it, and Dean’s eyes widened as the thought flitted through his mind of what he would have done had that happened.

Dean dropped the next scoop on purpose.

He lowered his lips to Castiel’s stomach and licked the pie right off his skin with a moan. Castiel’s stomach jumped a little at the sensation. He let out a little gasp as Dean’s tongue darted out again and licked into his belly button, searching for any stray crumbs.

Castiel’s voice hitched as he breathed out, “Dean, I am not a plate,” in a tantalizingly-strained whine that had Dean’s cock poking at the sheets.

“Oh God, you taste good,” Dean breathed into him. He sat back a little and pinned Cas with an intensely heated stare. There was still an edge of shyness to his voice however as he asked, “Cas, would you mind if I got…creative?”

Castiel’s breath hitched again. He arched against Dean, pressing his quickly hardening cock against Dean’s chest.

“Please,” Castiel begged him, still with that whiney edge.

Dean dropped the fork, reached over, and dipped two of his fingers into the middle of the pie, scooping strawberry filling out with them. These he brought to Castiel’s ready and waiting open mouth. Castiel closed his lips around Dean’s fingers and sucked them in slowly, tongue curving around the pie-coated digits as they pushed further into his mouth. He moaned when Dean pulled them away and replaced them with his mouth, tongue darting in to taste the remnants of sweetness on his tongue.

“ _Haaaah Caaas_ ,” Dean breathed into him, palming him lightly. Castiel gripped the back of his head with his bum arm. The sensation of the hard plaster cast digging into his skull was quickly becoming a turn on for Dean, and he groaned when he felt fingers tugging at the short strands of his hair, pulling it backwards. Castiel’s teeth latched onto his neck a moment later, sucking greedily. He shifted, reached blindly for the pie box with his good hand—found it—and dragged it closer to him. Then he plunged his hand into the middle, came out with a large scoop and spread the whole dripping mess of it from Dean’s neck all the way down to the middle of his chest.

Dean moaned and threw his head back, arching against Cas as his lips followed the trail of pie filling down to his nipple—hard from the chill of strawberry juices mixed with melting cream against the air. Castiel circled his tongue around it open mouthed and then breathed hot over it once before closing around its by-now softening tip. With his lips sucking around his nipple, he flicked the tip of his tongue against it to keep it hard. Dean moaned again—loudly—as he did, stretching his toes and grabbing at the bed sheets. He panted, feeling a little crazy and lightheaded, and tried to remember how to breathe. Then Castiel was biting him again and Dean was gulping down air because he was drowning.

Castiel leaned back only when every last streak of sticky-sweet filling was licked clean, grinning down at Dean with a truly satisfied smile on his face. His eyes glowed in the light of the fire and the shadows falling across his roughly-shaven face gave him an almost dangerous visage.

“Is that what you had in mind?” he asked, not at all innocently.

Dean was still attempting to catch his breath. He nodded vigorously.

“Yeah,” he said, gulping down more air. His chest heaved under him. “Som’in like that.” He was just about done catching his breath. He grinned and reached for the pie. “Though I was thinking something more along the lines of _this_.”

Dean scooped up a handful of pie guts and spread the whole thing over the length of Castiel’s cock. He followed it with his mouth.

“ _Ahhhhnnnggg mmmmnnn_ ,” Dean groaned around him, using his tongue to suck the sour-sweet-creamy flavor from the firm, full muscle filling his mouth. He could taste precum mixing in with the pie and moaned again at its salty addition.

Dean groped behind him for the can of whipped cream, found it, and pulled off just long enough to squirt some of it out in his hand. He spread this along Castiel’s cock as well, then lowered back down to taste it slow.

Castiel buried his hands in Dean’s hair and thrust into him, throwing back his head in a throaty moan.

“ _Uuunnnhh Dean!_ ” he cried, writhing under the thickness of Dean’s tongue, of the slide of his lips and the bob of his head against the back of Dean’s throat.

Castiel came hard and fast with barely any holdout at all, gasping and quivering heavy-limped and sprawled back on the mattress.

“Holy. Shit,” Cas panted, unable to move.

Dean let out a pleased hum as he swallowed him down, then sucked off with a pop.

“Now _that’s_ what I call strawberries and cream,” he said with a truly filthy smile.

Hours later as they were drifting off to sleep, with Dean drawing absentminded designs over Castiel’s shoulder blade—painting them with his fingers as if he were painting on wings—Castiel spoke suddenly.

“Dean, I have decided something,” Castiel said.

“Yeah? You telling me what it is?” Dean asked him.

Castiel rolled over and met his eyes with a serious look on his face.

“Since I still have another month’s leave from work, I have decided that I want to do something meaningful during that time. I am feeling better now that my ribs are healed, and if I can’t work then I want to be helping people.”

“Sure, Cas, that sounds great,” Dean said. He ran his hand down the side of Castiel’s face, affectionate. “What did you have in mind?”

Castiel looked down to the bed sheets shyly.

“I was thinking… I want to help teenagers like Alex by…teaching them music,” he said.

The smile that stretched across Dean’s face at that was automatic.

“I think that’s an awesome idea.”

* * *

They fell asleep in front of the fire again, warm and satiated by pie and good sex. After waking to a freezing cold cabin that first morning, Dean made sure to wake up a couple times during the course of the night to throw another log on the fire. He must have slept like the dead past a certain point, however, because it was out again when he awoke.

“Damnit,” Dean complained, burrowing deeper under the covers. He kept his cold toes from Cas this time and wormed closer to him. “Hey. Fire whisperer,” Dean muttered sleepily to Cas, “You’re up.”

“Nnnslsllmm,” came Castiel’s muffled grumbled.

“I did it yesterday,” Dean reminded him. He nuzzled into the crook of Castiel’s neck, rubbed his nose under the scruff of his jaw. “ _Please_ , Cas,” Dean whined, “Be my hero. Make me fire.” At the next muffled grunt from Cas, Dean pressed his lips under his jaw and then nibbled at it interspersed with small, mewling kisses. He slid a hand around between Castiel’s legs, dragging it up along the length of his still-sleeping cock. “I’ll make it worth your while,” Dean purred into his ear.

“Dean,” Castiel’s rumbling response was suddenly a lot more awake than he’d been a minute ago. He grunted as Dean ran his hand down and then up again. “Are you _prostituting_ yourself for fire?” he asked, sounding incredulous and more than a little aroused. He gasped at the next slide of Dean’s hand and pressed back against him.

“Maybe,” Dean murmured against his skin, “Is it working?”

Castiel drew in a sharp inhale and then hummed his agreement.

“We won’t need the fire,” he said, “We will make our own.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that,” Dean said against his skin with a smile. “Is this why so many people are born in June?”

“I wouldn’t know, I was born in October,” Castiel replied sleepily.

He realized what he said as soon as it slipped out.

“Wait, what?” Dean blurted, pulling away. He was fully awake now. “When? Dude, I _met_ you in October.”

“The twenty third,” Castiel told him, sounding a little guilty.

“But that was—” Dean started to say.

“Yes. That was about a week after we started going out,” Castiel finished for him. He hadn’t meant to keep it a secret, this was just the first time it had come up. Castiel sighed and rolled over to face Dean fully, knew when he did exactly what emotions would be showing on his face.

“Cas…why didn’t you say anything?” Dean asked. Castiel’s eyes flickered over his face, reading the hurt in those puppy-dog green eyes.

“Because I haven’t celebrated it in years,” Castiel told him, “And even if that were not the case, we were _one week_ in, Dean. I thought of saying something but I didn’t want to put any pressure on what was already such a delicate thing.”

“Hell, Cas, I could’ve handled it,” Dean insisted, “I was looking forward to giving you a birthday blow job. You’re telling me I gotta wait a whole _year_?”

“It is less than eleven months now,” Castiel replied, “If that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” Dean said, “It really doesn’t.”

“Will you please stop pouting?” Castiel said, exasperated, “It is cold and my birthday was months ago. It may have been just another day, but…Dean, this is the first year my birthday wish has come true. Whether you realized it or not, you have given me everything I asked for.”

For the second time that morning, Dean was left speechless.

“What? How?” he blurted out when he remembered how to form words.

“How do you think?” Castiel replied.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Dean’s lips, held his cheek—rough before his morning shave—in his palm and rubbed his thumb over the short bristles. Dean sighed into his mouth and pulled him closer, one hand pressing into the panes of his back, the other dipping lower to gently squeeze the firm meat of his ass.

Then Dean was pulling back and grinning down at him, his eyes like emeralds in the bright morning light filtering in through the windows.

“Tell you what. _I’ll_ build the fire _and_ I’ll give you a blow job, and then I’ll make us breakfast. Cuz I’m awesome like that,” Dean said. He grinned wider and pressed a chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips. “But you owe me, and I’m getting you a stupidly expensive gift for Christmas,” he declared.

“Clearly there is no stopping you,” Castiel replied dryly. Dean just kept smiling at him and rolled out of bed.

* * *

They spent much of the morning in bed lounging by the fire, Castiel basking in what was perhaps the best blow job of his _life_ and Dean lying contented next to him with his arms wrapped around his middle and their feet tangled in the blankets. It was late by the time hunger forced them out of bed.

Dean wanted to try pancakes on the wood stove, and so the rest of the morning was spent trying to get the hang of it. He burned the first two batches, but by the third he’d figured out how to control the temperature and each doughy disk came out a lovely golden-brown underneath.

“Check it out,” Dean said at one point, gesturing with the spatula, “I made a bear.”

Castiel peered over his shoulder into the pan to find a circular shape with two small nubs at the top for ears.

“What else can you make?” he asked.

Dean hummed and flipped the pancake over expertly. He was getting pretty damn good at that.

“Mom used to make us all kinds of things,” he said, “She’d even make dinosaurs for Sammy and me. I think she made a rocket once, though it was kinda just a blob.” He shrugged. “We were kids. We used our imaginations.” He scooped the pancake out onto the warming plate atop the stove. “I could try making a duck.”

Castiel made a pleased sound and pressed his lips to Dean’s neck.

“That would be impressive,” he said. He looped his arms around Dean and rested his chin on his shoulder, watching as he scooped up a ladle of batter and spooned it with laser-like focus into the pan.

“Huh,” Dean said when he’d finished.

Him and Cas looked down into the pan. Cas felt a snigger crawl up his throat and swallowed it down.

“Dean…that looks nothing like a duck,” he said. He couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice.

Dean laughed.

“Naw, it looks more like… well, _you_. This morning. See? With the little hook there?”

This time Castiel let out the chuckle that rose up when Dean pointed to it.

“Yes, it is hard not to,” he said.

“Yeah it was,” Dean replied caddishly. He flashed Cas a lewd smile over his shoulder. “It was really, _really_ hard.”

Castiel snorted.

“If you are done making dick jokes, perhaps we can eat.”

Dean flipped the dickcake out of the pan and scooped out another ladle of batter.

“Hang on, I want to try again,” he said.

He really did try to make a duck, for what it was worth, but on the third attempt he gave up and _actually_ tried for a dick. It came out looking more like a duck than all the others. Go figure.

When the pile of pancakes was stacked adequately high enough, Dean fried up the rest of the fish from the day before and a couple of eggs each to go with it and brought the whole thing over to the table.

Castiel was quiet as they stuffed themselves on the warm, hearth-cooked food. Dean left him to his thoughts, knowing Cas would say something when he was ready. It was when he was helping Dean with the dishes afterward that he finally decided to speak up.

Cas was just drying the pan Dean had handed him when he asked, “Dean, what is on the agenda today?”

Dean wondered briefly what he had in mind, then shrugged and answered him.

“I dunno. Same as yesterday, I guess. Fishing. Reading…” Dean trailed off and looked at him with a crooked smirk that needed no explanation. He said it anyway. “ _Fucking_.”

Castiel looked down at the pan in his hand.

“What if I said I was…ahh…bored of fishing?” he said carefully.

Dean’s lips quirked up at that.

“You sayin’ you wanna skip right to the good part?” he asked, “Did the pancakes turn you on that much?” he joked.

Castiel smiled at that and shook his head.

“No, that wasn’t what I meant,” he said. “I…find myself missing the city,” he said.

Dean’s lecherous grin slid into one that was more genuine and soft.

“Cas… you sayin’ you want to go home?”

Castiel face melted into that that secretly pleased expression of his that one of these days Dean was going to mention hid absolutely nothing.

“Yes, that is what I am saying.”

Castiel placed the now-dry pan down on the counter, the towel on top of it. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s middle and pressed his nose into his shoulder, closing his eyes and speaking in a low murmur.

“I was thinking if we left soon we could make it back just in time for lunch.” He placed a kiss at the base of Dean’s neck. “I was thinking about that little Thai place around the corner and…” Another kiss. “Perhaps a nice, hot bath after.” A press of lips right under his ear, and a brush of them as Cas continued painting him a picture of home. “I was thinking we could spend the day in bed and…fall asleep to reruns of Dr. Sexy.”

Dean let out a contented groan and felt the grin on his face crawl up into his ears.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, “I like the sound of that.”

They left the cabin within the hour, saying goodbye to its quiet sanctuary and rushing off to the bustle and bang of the city. Dean cranked the music on the way home, singing along off-key and not even caring.

_“With two cats in the yard; life used to be so hard. Now everything is easy ‘cause of you…”_

The loft was warm and alive when they arrived. Dean pulled Castiel into him as soon as they crossed the threshold, kissing him with all the feeling rising up in the center of his chest—excitement, exhilaration, eagerness, and an intensely sharp happiness that he’d never felt before. The kiss grew deeper, slower, and when he finally pulled away a hush had fallen over the entire apartment. Not even the constant cacophony of sirens and car horns outside could be heard in the small bubble of perfection between them.

Dean met Castiel’s eyes and smiled at him warmly.

“Welcome home, Ducky,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> So when I was writing this chapter (and the following), everyone wanted different things. I wanted to stuff in the getaway weekend to Upstate NY I’ve been trying to fit in for FUCKING MONTHS. Dean wanted pie sex. (PIE SEX. Specifically sex WITH pie. He was insistent about this.) Castiel wanted to teach Claire how to play the piano. (He was also rather intrigued by the idea of pie sex. To be honest, so was I.) I wanted to keep with my Holiday-themed schedule. I’m telling you, it was a mess. Until I sat everyone down one day and said hey, let’s see what we can do to make everyone happy here. And WHALLAH!! This chapter and the next were born. Decision #1: Bring Pie to the cabin. This was really the most important part, and then it was basically…maybe I’ll make this chapter a little shorter than say, hey, 40 FUCKING PAGES so that I actually have time to spend on Cas and Claire’s super wholesome surrogate dad/daughter thing. So that’s how this whole chapter came into being. :3
> 
> Fun Trivia: the song featured in this chapter is _Our House_ by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. Can anyone guess the book they were reading? Hint: it takes place in the Catskills. 
> 
> I'm SUPER excited to introduce Claire in the next chapter! She is very quickly taking over. It is a little terrifying and kinda awesome. Like Alex and Dean she is very insistent on getting what she wants. 
> 
> I haven't forgotten about Jo and Charlie. They will be making an appearance at some point in the near future, I promise. Gabriel is going to be making an appearance at a later time but rest assured it will be worth the wait.
> 
> It is currently 12:24, it's snowing outside in big, fluffy flakes, and I can feel a Destiel Christmas looming on the horizon. I think that's what I'll be writing for the rest of today. :3
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think! I love reading everyone's comments. I'm also taking requests for songs that Claire might like to learn on the piano.


	19. Decorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean decorate their place for the holidays and Cas discovers that teaching is harder than it looks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I know little to nothing about group homes/child services/etc. so...please forgive any discrepancies.

* * *

The move from Castiel’s apartment to Dean’s loft went relatively quickly. There wasn’t much of his stuff left at his place, besides his meager collection of summer clothes (which he had left behind since they weren’t needed at the time), the painting on his wall, and a small box of mementos that he’d collected over the years. Castiel drew this out from its shelf in the closet, glad he had chosen to store it there rather than under the bed where it would have gotten destroyed by the sink incident. He dusted off the cover and smiled at the writing scrawled across the top of the box: _Feathers Through Time._

He had been feeling poetic that day.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Dean asked him, hefting the few boxes of clothes into his arms. Castiel’s eyes flickered over the bulge of his biceps and forearms as he did so, his only thought that he would be going home with this man and staying there. Indefinitely, if things worked out. He might never come back here. Though he had decided to keep the apartment on the off chance that something did happen, he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be needed. This was goodbye, he realized, and he was so caught up in his thoughts that Dean assumed he hadn’t heard and repeated his question.

“Yes, I believe this is the last of it,” Castiel replied, shaking himself out of his daze. He rose to his feet and took one more look around the room. Then he tucked the box under his bum arm, picked up the painting with his good hand, and followed Dean out to the car.

It was when he was setting the box of memories on a shelf on his side of their shared walk-in closet that Dean came up behind him, quiet and curious as a mouse.

“What is that?” he asked, leaning over Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel hesitated, then told him.

“Can I see?”

Castiel seemed taken off guard by the question, even though Dean thought it was a perfectly reasonable one. He quirked an eyebrow.

“What? You got embarrassing stuff in there or something?” Dean pressed.

“No,” Castiel said quickly, blushing a little, “It’s just silly stuff. Things that mean a lot to me. Memories.” He slowly lifted the lid of the box. “If there were to be a fire and I could take with me only one thing, it would be this box,” Castiel told him.

“What? You wouldn’t rescue me?” Dean teased. He fake-pouted. “I’m hurt Cas, truly. Right here.” He tapped his chest, over his heart.

Castiel rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Dean was about to shoot back a cheeky remark when Castiel flipped the cover the rest of the way off and he blinked, recognizing the item at the very top.

It was the rose he had given Castiel on their first date.

Of course it could have been a different rose, but Dean knew it wasn’t. He reached out and carefully picked it up, holding the preserved flower delicately between his fingers as though it might turn to ash should he squeeze it too tight.

“You—” Dean’s throat swelled around the words. He cleared it and twirled the rose in his fingers. “You kept it,” he whispered roughly.

“Of course I kept it,” Castiel replied softly. When Dean looked up at his face there was a pink hue to his cheeks, and his eyes were cast away in sudden shyness.

Dean peeked back into the box, curious to see what else he would find. Only one other item was familiar—the rubber ducky Dean had gotten for Cas in Chinatown. He smiled at that as his eyes flickered over some of the other items in the box—a broken shell, a rosary, a leather bracelet, an old worn-out magazine that Dean recognized as one of the more gossipy tabloids, and a small clip of hundred-dollar bills.

“What’s with the cash?” he asked, curious.

“Tips. Someone who stays at the hotel periodically leaves them for me. I’ve never been able to figure out who it is,” Castiel replied.

“How’dya know it’s the same person?” Dean asked him.

“I don’t,” Castiel said, “But no one else whom I work with receives large tips like this. At least, not anonymously. Most who tip well want to show their gratitude in person, or at least leave their name.”

“Huh. Pretty cool, I guess,” Dean said, “Like…you think you’ve got a secret admirer or are they just loaded and really nice?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said with a shake of his head, “But it has been happening for years. Since I started working at the hotel. I hope one day I’ll get a chance to say thank you.”

“Is that why you keep it in there?” Dean asked next, “To remind you?”

“Yes and no,” Castiel replied, “Part of it is for practical reasons. As a…ahh…rainy day fund, if you will. In case something were to happen, like if I lost my bank card or my account was hacked…” He trailed off and frowned down at the small fund. There really wasn’t much there, to be honest. Enough for perhaps a month of living expenses if he were very careful, though he supposed that having a rainy day fund now was rather unnecessary. If anything happened, Dean would take care of him—he already was in many ways. These days whatever he made went straight toward rent and his college fund. He took the money out of the box and slipped it into his wallet.

“I suppose it is time to deposit it into the bank,” he said.

Dean wanted to ask about the other items in the box, but Castiel was replacing the cover before he could poke around some more. Still, there was one thing that really had him curious.

“What’s with the magazine?” he asked.

Castiel hesitated with the lid, then hastily finished covering it. He pushed it to the back of the shelf, against the wall, and frowned.

“Not all the memories in that box are good ones,” he said. He knew it didn’t answer Dean’s question. Dean opened his mouth to ask a different one, but Castiel beat him to it. “One day I will tell you,” he promised, “But now is not the appropriate time. I wished to finish putting away my things and then…perhaps we can celebrate my first night here as…a permanent resident.”

Dean smiled at that. He was still curious about the box and the magazine, but Cas was right. Tonight wasn’t the night to dredge up the past. It was a night, rather, for celebrating the future. 

“You can put the rest of it away later,” Dean said. He pulled Castiel into the circle of his arms. “Come here.”

He leaned in for a kiss, slowly caressing Castiel’s lips and dipping his tongue inside to taste him. He pulled back with a flirtatious smirk.

“Good?” he asked.

He was met with an equally dirty grin.

“To start,” Castiel replied, dragging him back in by his ears. “I really would like to get the rest of my things unpacked,” he said when he pulled away.

Dean hung his head back with a groan.

“You enjoy being a tease,” he said, pouting.

Castiel smirked a little at that and went to fetch the rest of his things.

The last item to find a home was the painting Castiel had taken with him from his apartment. He had leaned it up against the bench in the foyer when they’d arrived and now stood in front of it, contemplating the best place to hang it.

“Living room?” Dean suggested, hugging him from behind. He was eager to just put it _somewhere_ so that they could move on to better and more enjoyable activities.

“It has always watched over me,” Castiel said, leaning back against him. “Can we put it in…our room?”

His voice dropped to a soft, shy hush at that last part. Dean felt an automatic smile spread across his face.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Dean told him, “I think it’ll look good next to my Led Zepplin poster.”

“Dean. I was being serious,” Castiel said.

“So was I,” Dean replied. He pressed a kiss to the crook of Castiel’s neck. “Put it wherever you want,” he said.

Castiel hummed and leaned back against him.

“That reminds me. I will need somewhere to practice my singing,” he said.

“Yeah?” Dean said against his skin.

Castiel nodded and turned in his arms, slipping them around Dean’s neck.

“St. Patrick’s puts on a Christmas concert every year. I hope you like Christmas carols.”

Dean pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I like anything you sing,” he answered, feeling pleased at the light blush that sentiment brought to Cas’s cheeks. He pressed another lingering kiss against his lips. “How about the spare bedroom?” he asked when he pulled away, “I mean, there’s the room next to the workout room but it’s kinda full of stuff right now. Don’t think I’ll have time to clean it out before Christmas.”

“I’m sure your sentiment will change after you’ve heard me a hundred times,” Castiel said. He made a small noise of contentment as Dean merely shrugged and kissed him again “The spare bedroom will do nicely,” he decided. He played with the collar to Dean’s t-shirt, his eyes cast low to where his fingers fidgeted with the edge of soft fabric. Then he leaned forward and kissed Dean slowly, slipping his hand up into Dean’s hair.

Castiel pulled back with a slight frown.

“I don’t know what I am going to get you,” he said, “Or Sam, or Jess, or your father.” Castiel went a little limp at the thought of getting John Winchester a Christmas gift. “Son of a bitch. Your father.”

Dean gripped him by the upper arms to keep him upright and laughed.

“Man, chill the fuck _out_ , you’ll be fine,” Dean told him, “And listen, I don’t need anything, okay? So don’t worry about me. I already got the best Christmas present I could get. I got _you._ ” Dean planted a smiling kiss on his lips.

Castiel blinked, still in a daze from his mini panic attack. Dean knew when his words hit, because his face flushed red all the way down his neck. “Oh. Well. In that case…the same goes for you,” he said.

Dean shook his head.

“Nope, that’s not how this works. I said I was getting you a stupidly expensive present and I mean it. So you’re just gonna have to deal with it.” He gave Cas a cheeky grin and swooped in for another kiss.

Longer this time, and a lot more passionate. Dean enveloped Castiel’s entire mouth in his, pressing in and moving slow. He grinned into Castiel’s mouth at the satisfied groan that escaped the man in his arms. His lover. His best friend.

It was later when they were curled up on the couch watching the credits to yet another Dr. Sexy rerun and Dean got up to grab another drink from the bar—and Cas followed him with his eyes, feeling warm and content under the thick fleece blanket he had bundled around him—that he came to a decision. He got up from the couch and made his way over to the bar where Dean was standing.

Dean glanced over at him and held up a beer.

“Want one?” he asked.

Castiel shook his head.

“I am getting you a gift,” he declared.

Dean’s brow pinched together for a moment, attempting to follow his boyfriend’s train of thought.

“Uh…okay?” he said.

“I want to,” Castiel told him. He slipped his arms around Dean’s neck and pressed his body in close to his, dropping his voice to an intimate murmur. “I want to give you something to show…how much I care about you.”

“Well…I won’t say no,” Dean said with a smirk. He leaned in and dropped a kiss on Castiel’s lips. “But it doesn’t have to be anything big, okay? Save your money.”

“Whatever for?” Castiel asked, letting out a small, irritated huff, “Dean, you are paying for everything these days. You refuse to let me pitch in with the groceries or the cleaning lady or the utility bills—”

“I like taking care of you,” Dean replied with a shrug. “That reminds me, I wanted to take you out next weekend. See the city all done up in lights, check out the tree in Rockefeller Center…maybe go ice skating.”

“I can’t skate,” Castiel told him.

“Good. I get to teach you,” Dean said with a flirtatious smile.

“Dean, I get my cast off in three weeks,” Castiel said, “I would very much prefer not breaking my other arm until then.”

“I’ll catch you if you fall,” Dean flirted, drawing him closer against his chest, “I promise.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at the cheesy line but was betrayed by the blush across the bridge of his nose.

“You know you can ask for stuff, right?” Dean said suddenly, “Anything you need, you just let me know.”

“I can pay for my own things,” Castiel told him.

“I know,” Dean said. He shrugged. “Like I said, I like taking care of you. And I like seeing you smile. And…I guess I’d like it if you were to ask for stuff that you want. Cuz I know you don’t usually do that.”

Castiel opened his mouth to refuse, but something about the way Dean was gazing down at him with a soft smile on his lips stopped him. What came out instead was miles away from where he started.

“Dean, I want to decorate this place for Christmas,” he blurted.

Dean laughed at the sudden request.

“Wow, okay, that was fast,” he teased. Castiel went a little red at that comment and started to open his mouth to take it back when Dean continued. “Huh. Never had a place to decorate before,” he said, looking around the room briefly as though considering how it might look. His attention shifted back at Cas and he smiled. “It’ll be a Christmas of firsts, am I right?”

The unsaid significance of his comment hung in the air between them for a couple rapid-fire beats of Castiel’s heart.

_Their first Christmas together_.

Castiel felt his whole face light up with excitement.

“Can we get a Christmas tree?” he blurted out, “A real one?”

Dean’s eyes went a little wide at his sudden enthusiasm. He let out a surprised chuckle.

“Sure, I mean…that’s pretty standard, right?” he replied.

“And Christmas stockings?” Castiel pressed.

“Well…yeah, okay. If you want,” Dean said, “There’s no fireplace but…hell, we can stick ‘em on the bar. How’s that sound?”

Castiel nodded his agreement. “Yes, over the bar will look wonderful. Can we get some eggnog? I have never tried it and…I think I would like to. Perhaps we can get some mistletoe for the foyer? And—”

Dean let out a sudden bark of laughter at Castiel’s incessant demands. Castiel seemed to realize he was getting a little overzealous because he broke off and looked a little guilty.

“Sorry, I…it was just a suggestion. We don’t have to do all of that.”

“Hey, you know I won’t say no to booze and a little lip action,” Dean told him. He grinned down at Cas in clear amusement. “What’s with you tonight?” he asked, “You’re acting like you’ve never had a real Christmas before.”

Castiel shook his head.

“Not since I left home. My apartment is too small. I have a fake tree that’s about seven inches tall that I put on the kitchen table. That’s about it.”

Dean smirked at him, noting his use of the present tense. Maybe he could do something about that.

“Well, you’ve got this whole place now,” he said, sweeping out an arm to indicate the spacious room they were in, “So? Where should we put the tree?”

Castiel looked around them with a slight frown.

“The living room would be the logical choice,” he said, “Perhaps in the far corner?”

“What about the pool table?” Dean pointed out.

“Perhaps we could…move it?” Castiel suggested. He held up a hand. “Just until the season is over,” he added quickly.

“I see how it is. You’re gonna make the place over in the first week, is that it?” Dean teased, “Before you know it I’ll have things like ‘throw pillows’ and ‘potpourri’ laying around?”

Castiel looked at him a little guiltily and seemed uncomfortable. He lowered his hand slowly. 

“I am not a fan of either of those things,” he said. The guilty look lingered, however. After a moment he asked, “Where would you put it, Dean?”

“Storage,” Dean replied, “The table, not the tree.” He smiled. “Who plays pool over Christmas, am I right? Guess I better rethink the pinball machines I was thinkin’ of getting too. I’d like this to be a home, not an arcade.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering what the hell else he was going to do with all that space.

Castiel suddenly had two hands about his ears and was dragging him down into a sloppy, eager kiss.

“Thank you,” Castiel murmured against his lips. He kissed Dean again, full and burning and sweet. “Oh Dean, thank you for everything. _Thank you_ ,” Castiel sighed the last part into his mouth in between the soft press of his lips.

Dean responded, kissing him back, and felt his heart flutter pleasantly at the gesture, as though a small winged creature lived inside the cavity of his chest. When he pulled back he felt a little breathless.

“It’s just a tree, Cas,” he said. His face felt warm. Hell, his _everything_ felt warmed by that kiss, and not even necessarily in a _need you right here right now_ kind of way, but he was quickly gettin’ there.

Castiel shook his head.

“It is not just the tree,” he said softly, “It is everything else too. I…cannot tell you how much it means to be here with you, Dean. I am…overcome with joy.”

Dean laughed a little breathlessly. He wasn’t trying to take away from the moment, but he felt a little weird about all the credit Cas was giving him. It was just an apartment. It really wasn’t anything special. Okay, yeah, so he’d gotten it with this in mind but… why was Cas making such a big deal about it? He had been living with Dean for the past month already.

But the thought that he had helped put that smile on Cas’s face. Well now, that was…that was entirely worth losing the damn pool table or the pinball machines or hell, perhaps even his porn collection. He wondered briefly about what Cas would think about that last one before it hit him.

“You’re happy,” he blurted, looking down into eyes bluer than the ocean surf. They twinkled in the soft light streaming in through the window, where Dean could just make out the skeleton-like tops of the trees bordering Central Park.

A nod from Castiel, and the mile-long stretch of a smile across his face.

“Indeed I am,” he said. He pulled Dean in for another kiss. “I am happy, Dean,” he breathed against Dean’s mouth when it was finished. “I am so irrationally, unbelievably happy.”

The small creature curled up in Dean’s ribcage stretched and fluttered again. It spread heat across his chest like a wildfire, right down to the tips of his fingers. It had to be a mystical creature for him to be feeling like this, Dean decided, because love couldn’t do this, could it? Love wasn’t a tiny dragon setting his heart on fire…right?

If it was, maybe he’d have to learn how to tame it eventually, before it burned him up from the inside. For now he merely pulled Castiel in again, pressed his length solidly against the man he loved and pushed lips and tongue in for more. _More_.

“We’re gonna get the biggest fuckin’ tree in the whole goddamn city,” Dean promised him, kissing Cas again. And again. And again. “Bigger than the one in Rockefeller Square. We can lay it sideways and sleep in the hallway. I don’t even care.”

“That is illogical,” Castiel said in between the press of his lips. “It will not fit through the door.”

There was an amused curve to Cas’s lips when Dean kissed him next, and a lilt to his voice that sounded carefree and playful.

“Then we’ll blow out the walls and airlift it in,” Dean answered against him, “Gonna Nakatomi Plaza this bitch.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Castiel replied, sounding bewildered.

“It’s a Christmas thing,” Dean said in between short, messy kisses, “I’ll show you.”

That got him a huff of laughter which he swallowed down with a flick of his tongue. Then Castiel was groaning into his mouth and grabbing at his shirt, steering him backwards toward the pool table. Dean felt his ass hit the edge of it but Castiel was still coming at him, hands sliding under his shirt now. He seemed to have a very good idea of what was about to happen here, if the glint in his eyes meant anything.

“We should make good use of it before you put it in storage,” he murmured against Dean’s neck. A tongue followed, and then his mouth, sucking greedily. Dean groaned and shoved his hips forward. They were stopped by the brace of Castiel’s hands.

“Dean, would you like me to take you right here on this table?” Castiel asked. His voice was husky and heavy with arousal. Dean grunted and made a gurgling whining noise in the back of his throat that he had to admit wasn’t at all manly but in the moment he really didn’t give a shit. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Castiel said against his skin.

With a sudden burst of strength that had Dean honestly wondering where Cas had been hiding it in his slim but graceful nerd body, Castiel scooped him up under his thighs and hefted him onto the edge of the table so that he was standing directly in the straddle of Dean’s legs.

Dean grinned at him and looped his legs around Cas’s waist. He hooked his ankles together, the heels of his bare feet sticking out of his jeans and resting against the soft plush of Cas’s ass.

Castiel didn’t give him pause, just wrapped himself full-bodied around Dean, pressing their chests together—pressing their everything together—and kissed him with both his hands (well, one hand and one hard plaster cast) buried in Dean’s hair. Which was hard to do considering how short it was, but Cas still managed to somehow get his fingers sunk into it regardless.

“Why Cas,” Dean flirted when he got his breath back, “Are you hustling me?”

Castiel hummed and moved his attention to Dean’s neck.

“No, Dean. I am fucking you,” he replied against Dean’s skin. And then he bit down.

“F—f _uck_ ,” Dean gasped emphatically, hanging his head back as Cas proceeded to obliterate his neck. Lips and tongue and teeth in a crazy, hazy swirl that left him lightheaded. Then his shirt was off and Castiel was lowering down to his chest. Dean slumped against the surface of the pool table and groaned loudly when he started flicking at his nipple with the tip of his tongue, then taking it gently between his teeth with a slight graze. Flick and nip. Flick and nip. It was driving Dean mad.

“ _Hhhhaaannngg Cas_ ,” Dean groaned, chest heaving.

Castiel’s only response was to circle his nipple with the tip of his tongue and then press the flat of it against it entirely. When his lips and mouth closed around his nipple and sucked in, that’s when Dean really lost it.

“Cas— _fuck_ —p-pl— _aaahhh_ just— _please_ , Cas!!”

The words rushed out in a desperate, jumbled heap. 

He started to bring his hands up, to force Castiel’s mouth back to his or—what the hell—force it lower to his aching hard on. He never got to figure out which it was because Cas covered his hands before he could, gripped him around the wrists and pressed his palms back down to the velvety green fuzz of the pool table.

Dean shoved his hips forward since he couldn’t move his hands, which got him an inch of something rubbed up against Castiel. It also got Cas to stand up on his tip toes and lean in, dragging the full weight of him down against Dean’s front. This got him feet of the slide he was looking for and his hips jerked again at the glorious friction.

“Do you have a condom on you?” Castiel asked, looking up at him.

“Back pocket,” Dean gasped.

Cas tried one side first, fingers worming in against Dean’s ass, and even that small, dispassionate gesture had Dean thinking, _‘Oh yeah, right there.’_ The fingers, however, moved on to the other pocket when they didn’t find what they were looking for.

He heard the soft crinkle of plastic and then Castiel’s fingers were at the front of his jeans, unbuttoning them and carefully pulling down the zipper. He stripped Dean’s legs bare like he was shucking an ear of corn, shed his own just as quickly around his thighs, and then pulled Dean closer around the hips so that he could angle up into him. Dean let his head fall back to the pool table with a long moan as the burning slide of Castiel’s cock sunk into him.

“ _Fuck_ , Cas,” he breathed, groping for something to hang on to. He got the far edge of the table and braced himself against it as Castiel thrust into him again. This ripped another loud moan from him. Cas’s fingers dug into Dean’s hips, rocking forward into him with the force of a hurricane and dragging the most obscene noises from Dean at each punching thrust. Dean’s cock was hard as a tree branch against his stomach, swollen and leaking precum every time Castiel grazed that sweet spot inside of him. Dean struggled for breath, chest heaving at the feeling of being filled up and ripped apart at the same time.

“I want you to come for me, Dean,” Castiel rasped, angling up into him in another hard thrust, “I want you to come without me even touching you, all over this table.”

_“UUUUuuuuuuhhnngg Cas_ ,” Dean moaned, forearms bulging as he pushed down and met Castiel’s hips. He heard the wet _smack_ of flesh against flesh and groaned from all the way down. “ _Yes_ ,” he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut and readjusting his grip on the table, “Oh _God_ yes, _Cas_. Gonna come. Gonna— _hhaaaaauuunngg_ c-c— _AAAHhh!!_ ” 

His cock jerked against his stomach and spurted erratically in jumps at every slam of Cas’s cock against his prostate. No more coherent words were forthcoming, just long, loud shouts of ecstasy as Castiel milked every last drop of pleasure from him and then came himself with a shuddering gasp and a loud, punching moan.

Dean’s only thought before falling back onto the pool table in a satisfied, tingling spread of limbs was how he was ever going to get all the cum stains out of the green felt. He tilted his head back up to see Castiel grinning down at him with a cat-like smile.

“Well?” Castiel asked, “How would you rate that one?”

“Top ten. Definitely in the top ten,” Dean panted back at him.

The smirk grew into true Cheshire cat proportions.

“I thought as much.”

He sounded just about as smug as he looked. Dean made a big deal out of rolling his eyes so that Cas knew just how unimpressed he was and rolled off the table. His eyes traced the long white streaks painted across its surface.

Well, okay. Maybe he was a little impressed.

* * *

Castiel straightened his tie for no less than the seventeenth time since walking into this place. The small, cluttered administrative office of _Good Shepard Services_ was stuffy and the heat was cranked up way too high. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing here. Dean had left that morning for work, and with nothing else to do Cas had begun researching possible places where he might volunteer his time. He’d come across this place almost immediately, had called and set up an interview with the manager for later that day. He had barely had time to prepare what he was going to say—he had called Dean to tell him the good news, and only in hindsight realized that time could have been used to a better prepare for this meeting.

It was too late now, though, so he was just going to have to wing it. He tried to gather his wits as he waited, but the heat was getting to him and making it hard to think. Cas tugged at his neckpiece again, unknowingly quirking it to the side.

Suddenly the door opened and a short, portly, auburn-haired woman walked briskly into the room.

“Are you Mr. Gray?” she addressed him.

“Yes, that is I,” Castiel answered her, trying very hard to hide how nervous he felt.

“I’m Marlene, the manager.” The woman held out her hand to shake his and then glanced down at her clipboard. “Says here you’re out of work on short-term disability and you want to volunteer in the meantime,” she read off his application.

“Yes,” Castiel replied.

“Says here you can sing and play the piano, and are, and I quote, ‘familiar with the sick beats of the _Gen-_ Z’?”

“Ahh….y-yes?” Castiel replied.

“And you are willing to offer your services where they are needed,” Marlene finished. Her eyes glanced up from the clipboard and pinned Castiel down with a look.

“Yes, that is correct,” Castiel answered her, a little more confidently this time. “You see, my boyfriend’s friend has this foster daughter, and over Thanksgiving we played the piano together, and she asked me if I taught music…” Castiel trailed off. “I’m sorry, this is probably boring you.”

“Not at all,” Marlene replied. There was a slight grin ghosting her lips. “Please, continue.”

“Ahh…well, I keep thinking about how fulfilling it felt to help her with her music, but it was more than that.” Castiel’s face grew animated, excited. He began gesturing with his hands. “It was like we _connected_ on some deeper level, and she seemed…happier after. Less abrasive and more…open. I thought, I’d like to help others like her with music—whether that means teaching them or just playing for them—I really don’t mind either way. Though I think creating music might be more therapeutic than simply listening—”

“ _Mr._ Gray. Castiel. Let me stop you right there,” Marlene cut in loudly, holding up her hand, “I think I have heard quite enough.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, his face dropping in disappointment. “I see.”

“Now, before you go pulling out those big, sad, puppy-dog eyes,” Marlene continued, “What I meant is that I think I understand your reasons for wanting to volunteer pretty damn clearly. This isn’t something we typically do, but I’m willing to give it a shot.” She paused, shooting him a sly grin. “In fact, I think I know where you can start. Are you free now?”

“What? You’re serious?” Castiel blurted. He blinked rapidly, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Ahh, yes, now is fine.” He grabbed the woman’s hand and gave it an enthusiastic shake. “Thank you! You won’t regret this. Ahh… I mean, I’ll do my best. Um…” Castiel trailed off, nervous he was saying the wrong thing.

Marlene just threw back her head with a laugh.

“Oh honey, you had better grow a backbone or these kids are going to eat you _alive_ ,” she warned.

She led Castiel out of the sweltering office and down the hall, up a couple flights of stairs to where the individual dorms were. She knocked on the third door on the right.

“Claire? Can I come in?”

There was no response on the other side of the door. Marlene opened it anyway, leading Cas into a small eight-by-six room that was furnished with little more than a twin bed and a dresser. There was a girl of about sixteen or seventeen sitting on the bed with earbuds in her ears. Her entire attention was devoted to the cell phone in her hand.

Castiel wasn’t sure she was even aware they were there until she spoke.

“By all means, come in,” she said with a heavy line of sarcasm, “It’s not like my privacy is important or anything.”

Castiel looked nervously to Marlene, who frowned and introduced him as though she had never spoken.

“Claire, this is Castiel. He’s our new music teacher.”

Claire didn’t bother looking up.

“Good for him,” she mumbled, “Why the hell are you telling me?”

Marlene forced a smile onto her face and replied, “Castiel is going to be teaching you how to play the piano today.”

“Oh, he is?” Claire said. Finally she looked up, peering at Cas with a look of such loathing that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Marlene was right. Teenagers were scary. Claire looked back down at her phone. “Yeah, thanks but I’ll pass.”

“Claire,” Marlene said, a warning in the tone of her voice, “This is not a request. The judge said unless you showed progress he was sending you to a detention center, and since you refuse to speak to a counselor—”

“Because they’re all fucking clueless,” Claire interrupted venomously. “Like they know what I’m going through.”

“Watch your language,” Marlene chided.

“Why? Who the hell am I supposed to be impressing?” Claire lifted her chin, nodding in Castiel’s direction, “Him? You think I give a shit what he thinks of me?”

“Ahh…Marlene, perhaps—if she doesn't wish to learn, perhaps there is someone I would be better suited to teach,” Castiel said haltingly. 

“There, see? He wants nothing to do with me,” Claire said.

Marlene shot them both a severe look and raised her eyebrow at Cas.

“You said you wanted to volunteer, and this is what I’ve got,” she said. She turned back to Claire. “Unless you _want_ me to tell the judge you are being uncooperative,” she warned.

Claire rolled her eyes.

“Great. Blackmail from a _social worker_ ,” she said. She huffed and tugged the earbuds out of her ears. “Fine,” she spat, glaring at Marlene, “I just got to sit through a stupid piano lesson, right? And then you’ll leave me alone?”

At Marlene’s nod, Claire hopped up off the bed and walked over to them. The look she gave Castiel was venomous, rebellious.

“Well? What the hell are we waiting for?” she said, crossing her arms.

Marlene showed them to a small auditorium the group home used as an alternate meeting room. There was a standard piano up against one wall and a couple dozen chairs stacked against the wall opposite it. In between was a wide empty space where the chairs could be arranged in a circle for group meetings. Marlene showed Cas how to adjust the temperature in the room and then left them alone together.

Castiel dragged a chair over for Claire and himself and considered where to begin.

“Do you have any musical experience?” he asked.

Claire was on her phone again, doing her best to ignore him. Castiel waited for an answer, feeling a drop of sweat slide down the collar of his shirt. The room was too warm, just like the office. He got up to turn it down. When he returned to his seat, he cleared his throat, attempting to sound authoritative as Marlene had.

“Claire, I asked you a question,” he said.

“No kidding,” Claire retorted. Her thumbs danced across the small screen in her hands.

“I asked if you had any—” Castiel started to say.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Claire interrupted. Castiel thought she might say more, but when she didn’t he tried again.

“Are you going to answer my question?” he asked.

Claire looked up from her phone and pinned him with a look.

“You seem pretty smart. What do you think?” she asked.

Castiel sighed and frowned.

“Marlene said—”

“Marlene said I had to sit through this stupid lesson,” Claire finished for him. She smirked, a sly look in her bright blue eyes. “She didn’t say I had to participate.”

Castiel felt his hope dissolve as she turned her attention back to her phone.

“Claire, please,” he tried again, “I am here to help you.”

“Don’t need your help,” Claire mumbled at him, refusing to look up.

The next few minutes passed in much the same way, with Castiel trying to get Claire to participate and Claire blatantly refusing or ignoring him. Finally Castiel had enough and rose to his feet, grabbing the phone from her.

“Hey! Give that back!” Claire blurted.

“You will get it back at the end of the lesson,” Castiel said. He glanced pointedly at the piano. “Now sit down. We are going to start with a simple D-Major scale.”

Claire folded her arms across her chest.

“You can’t make me,” she said. She smirked wickedly at him.

“Clearly,” he said, annoyed. Castiel sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “If Dean were here, he would know what to do,” he mumbled under his breath, more to himself than anything. Castiel frowned, suddenly wishing his boyfriend _were_ here, because Dean _would_ know what to do. He was so much better dealing with difficult people than Castiel was.

“Who’s that?” Claire asked, catching him off guard. He hadn’t thought she had heard him. Castiel took a breath and tried not to let show how upset he was becoming.

“My boyfriend,” Castiel provided hastily, “We just moved in together.” Castiel fidgeted with his tie, unsure why he had added that last part except that it felt important somehow. He waited for Claire to laugh at him, for the snide comment he was sure would follow, but it didn’t come.

“Huh. You should lead with that next time,” Claire said instead, “I thought you were a creeper. What’s with the flasher coat anyway?”

Castiel looked down at his coat in confusion.

“What’s wrong with my coat?” he asked. He tugged at his lapels, feeling more than a little self-conscious. 

“So how long you guys been going out?” Claire asked next.

Castiel looked up, taken off guard by her sudden interest in his personal life.

“About two months,” he answered automatically.

Claire looked at him strangely.

“And you already moved in with him?” she asked, suspicious.

“I love him,” Castiel answered, as though that explained everything. And it did, in a way.

“Wow, okay,” Claire blurted, clearly surprised. Her eyebrows raised a couple inches into her hairline. “I mean, I took you for a sucker but…” She shook her head. “Didn’t think you were _that_ stupid.”

“I don’t know what you are referring to,” Castiel said in exasperation, “Dean cares about me very much. He is the one who asked me to move in. He’s the one who believes we have a future together whereas I…”

Castiel let out a harsh breath and frowned. He was growing more and more upset by the minute and he wasn’t even sure why except that this girl had a way of getting under his skin. Claire just peered at him with this look like she had him all figured out. Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“You’re stalling,” he realized, irritation replacing the growing feeling of unease, “I’m sure Marlene will not be happy to hear how uncooperative you are being,” he said, “Perhaps I will just go and tell her.” He got up from his seat and started toward the door. 

That got a reaction out of Claire.

“Sure, go ahead. Get me thrown out of here. At least I won’t have to sit through any more of these dumb lessons,” she grumbled.

Castiel stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned back, his shoulders slouching in defeat.

“Claire, I don’t wish to cause you any distress. I am here to—”

“To help me, right. So you said.” Claire rolled her eyes. “Cuz narking on me will totally help.”

“What if I were to play something for you?” Castiel offered, making his way back to his chair, “You can choose anything you like, and after I can teach you how to play it.”

As soon as he said it, Claire gave him a long look that turned into a slow smirk which had Castiel feeling sure he was going to regret ever opening his mouth.

“Yeah, okay,” Claire said, “You got a deal.”

* * *

When Castiel finally made it home and found Dean cooking stir-fry for dinner, he all but collapsed into the stool by the breakfast bar and dropped his head to the counter with a loud _thud_.

Dean looked up from where he was tossing vegetables around in the frying pan and glanced over at him.

“That bad, huh?” he asked.

Castiel let out a muffled grumble.

“Marlene agreed to let me teach,” he said into the countertop, “I had my first student today.”

Dean paused in his cooking and walked over. He leaned against the counter across from Cas and stared down at the dark mop of hair laying there.

“What happened?” he asked fondly, a softness to his expression.

Castiel turned his head and looked up at him with his face pressed into the dark marble of the counter. Then, slowly, he told Dean about Claire.

“I told her I would play her anything if she would allow me to teach it to her,” he finished.

“So? That’s good, right?” Dean said.

Castiel grunted.

“One would think. I am pretty sure she played me,” he said.

Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“Dean, it is not funny.”

“Heh, sorry. Just…I kinda like the sound of this kid. She’s got guts.” He ran a hand through Castiel’s hair. “So? What’d she pick?”

“She chose _I kissed A Girl_ by Katy Perry,” Castiel told him, “I am pretty sure she did it just to make fun of me.”

That just made Dean laugh harder.

“Yup, you walked right into that one,” he told Cas. He ran his hand through Cas’s hair again, playing with the soft, silky strands. “So, have you?” he asked.

“Have I what?” Castiel asked back.

“Kissed a girl,” Dean clarified.

Castiel let out a heavy sigh.

“As it turns out, yes, but I didn’t like it very much,” he replied.

That drew another laugh from Dean.

“So what happened with Claire? It worked, right? You got her to play?” he asked.

“The lesson ended before I could teach her anything,” Castiel replied miserably. He picked his head up off the counter. “Dean, all I did today was make a fool of myself. I didn’t make a difference at all.”

“Hey, you don’t know that,” Dean said. He dropped a kiss into the dark mess of Cas’s hair. “Kids are jerks,” Dean told him, “She’s just trying to get a rise out of you, and if you let her then she’s just going to do it more. Really, Cas, you just gotta play her game until she warms up to you. And don’t give up. Kids like that…I dunno, maybe I’m wrong here, but I get the feeling she’s just afraid of getting hurt again, you know? Kinda like you were when we first met. Maybe just try talking with her about it?”

Castiel looked down at the counter with a thoughtful frown on his lips.

“Perhaps,” he said, “I will attempt it tomorrow.”

Dean covered the hand he had on the counter with his.

“If anyone can reach her, it’s you,” he said.

Castiel looked up at that, eyes widened in pleasant surprise. Dean smiled at him and leaned in for a proper kiss. He felt the smile against his lips grow as Castiel relaxed into him. He pulled away with a pleased hum and returned to the food cooking on the stove.

“How was work?” Castiel asked him as he gave the pan a good shake.

Dean gave him a half-shrug.

“Same old. Got a shortlist of properties we’re thinking to buy if the quarter ends strong,” he said, “Which, pretty sure it will. Wrote Kevin a reference letter for Princeton and had to talk him down from a full-on panic attack when he started on about his college essay again. Oh, and Charlie says hi. She wants to hang out, do a movie night.”

Castiel nodded and made an agreeable sound. Dean heaped the stir-fry over a bed of rice and brought everything over to the breakfast bar, sliding one of the plates in front of Cas. He settled onto the stool with a light smile at his lips.

“I told her this weekend,” Dean said, “Long as you’re cool with that. I figured we could invite Jo and Anna and Chuck over too.”

“Yes, I would like that,” Castiel said in between bites, “I miss Charlie. I haven’t been to the soup kitchen since the accident.”

“She misses you too,” Dean said, scooping up a bite, “Says she can’t wait to see your dopey face.”

He grinned at Cas and stuffed food into his mouth. Castiel felt the tension from the day ease away and did the same.

* * *

They met up in Hell’s Kitchen the following afternoon after Cas finished at the group home. Dean ducked out of the office early and together they walked to NYC Trees to pick out the perfect holiday addition to the loft and do a little Christmas shopping while they were at it.

“So,” Dean said, making conversation as they weaved through the crowded sidewalks, “How’d things go today?”

“Marlene set up a schedule with those who wish to learn piano,” Castiel said, “The first three lessons went very well. All of my students seemed to very much enjoy my tutelage.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow. There was a frown tugging at Castiel’s lips and added wrinkles that weighed down his face, illustrating how worn out he was.

“What about Claire?” Dean asked.

Cas’s lips twitched in irritation at the sound of that name.

“I attempted to teach her the D-Major scale,” Castiel recounted, “She complained that it was boring and wished to play something interesting. I argued with her about it being necessary to learn the basics, but halfway through the argument she simply stopped listening to me and got out her phone. When I tried to take it from her, she held it out of my reach. I tried for a good five minutes before giving up and—” Castiel shoved a hand through his hair and when he looked at Dean his eyes were wide and a little wild. “I had to leave the room, Dean, I was in danger of losing my temper.”

Dean’s eyebrows inched up into his hairline. He’d seen Cas royally pissed off only once and wondered how Claire might react to having the fear of God put in her. He bit his tongue against the laugh rising in his throat and clenched his teeth together to keep his face carefully arranged in a blend of supportive concern and affection.

“Then what happened?” he asked.

Castiel let out a long sigh.

“I went to use the restroom. When I came back to the room she was playing the scale perfectly. Up and down, repeatedly, without mistakes,” Castiel replied, “She told me she didn’t know how to play the piano. I don’t know if she lied to me or if she really is that gifted. She wouldn’t say.”

Dean’s eyebrows crawled further up his forehead. He let out a low whistle.

“So what’d you do?” he asked.

“We moved on to Mozart,” Castiel replied, “She didn’t like that either. Said it wasn’t her type of music.”

This time Dean did laugh a little.

“You didn’t let her pick again, did you?”

Something similar to guilt but mixed with a heavy hand of annoyance flickered across Castiel’s face.

“It wasn’t so bad this time. She chose Vanessa Carlton’s _A Thousand Miles_. It was…not nearly as insufferable as the last song.”

Dean chuckled.

“Well that’s good,” he said. He nudged Cas’s arm. “See? Told ya you just gotta keep tryin’. You got her to learn something, right? I’d call that a win.”

Castiel grunted and shrugged.

“I suppose,” he replied. 

They arrived a few minutes later at the tree place. Dean was a little disappointed to learn that the largest tree available for purchase was fifteen feet tall, until Castiel poignantly reminded him that the loft’s ceiling only went to twelve feet. Dean wanted to get the full twelve, but Cas convinced him it would look strange if it went all the way to the ceiling. He wanted the six-footer. They compromised and went with the ten-footer, which left enough space on top for a sizeable angel.

“We could always stick you at the top of the tree,” Dean grinned at him cheekily, “Put you in a little pair of wings, hang some mistletoe on your…heh, _you know_. You could be the slutty angel on the tree.”

Castiel shot him _a look_.

“I could grab you by the balls and put the stars you see at the top of the tree instead,” he suggested.

Dean made a face at him behind his back and followed him out of the store with the sales receipt. Claire had really put him in a grumpy mood. Dean was sure he could get Cas to drop it and relax by the end of their little date and smiled at the challenge.

Dean told the driver to meet them at their next destination and then they headed over to the Christmas shop in Times Square on foot to get decorations for their tree and the rest of the loft. The square was a sea of people, each on their own personal holiday mission. Dean and Cas weaved through the crowd with their hands clasped tightly together so as not to get separated. Dean’s favorite find was an ornament of a classic muscle car. Castiel thought his was the pair of turtle doves. They were both particularly fond of the mistletoe.

“Know what we should do,” Dean said, turning the small green sprig over in his hand, “Should tie it to a stick and then make it into a hat. It’d be like a kissing hat. I bet people would pay good money for something like that.”

He held the mistletoe up over their heads to demonstrate, leaning forward to capture Castiel in a kiss right there in the middle of the busy store. Dean heard someone in the crowd hoot and whistle so he slid his hand behind Cas’s neck and pulled him closer to _really_ give them a show. Castiel was blushing bright red by the time he pulled away.

They continued with their shopping, hand-in-hand this time not out of necessity, but because they wanted to.

Hours later the car was filled to the brim with bags and boxes of holiday decorations. They headed back to the loft, pleasantly tired from the busy afternoon. By the time they arrived, the tree had been delivered and all that was left to do was decorate it.

“Alright, let’s get this party started,” Dean said, throwing on his Christmas rock-and-roll playlist. He began by helping Cas take everything they’d purchased—tinsel, beads, lights, the _works_ —out of their respective packaging and spread it all out on the living room floor. “Shouldn’t take too long, right? How hard can it be to decorate this thing?”

They were words he was going to seriously regret speaking aloud.

Five hours later, they collapsed into bed heavy-limbed and exhausted.

“Why. The _fuck_. Did you let me get a tree that big?” Dean asked Cas wearily. Castiel shot him an incredulous look.

“Are you serious? Dean, I _tried_ to. You were insistent, in case you have forgotten,” he said in exasperation. “‘Let’s get the _bigger_ one,’” Castiel mocked, recounting his exact words. Dean winced, cursing his damned eidetic memory. “‘The size of the wood _matters_ , Cas. You want the tree to be taller than Sammy, don’t you?’” Castiel’s eyes narrowed as he glared pointedly at Dean.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, “’M too tired to argue. Next year we’ll get the six-footer like you wanted, I promise.”

Castiel’s ire dissolved in an instant. He felt his breath catch in his chest.

_Next year._

“Dean,” he said, his voice dropping to a low hush. He propped himself up on his elbow and turned onto his side where he could peer down at his boyfriend. Dean had his eyes closed, his bronze eyelashes bright against the golden hue of his skin. Castiel leaned down and pressed a slow, tender kiss to his lips.

Dean smiled and hummed with their mouths still pressed together.

“What’s that for?” he murmured against Cas’s lips.

“I love you,” Castiel answered him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Apologies for the late post. I'm pretty much out of buffer and between the new job and school and going away for the weekend, I fear this chapter feels a little rushed despite my best efforts to smooth everything out. I'm planning on slowing down my posting schedule starting in January to work on the second half of this epic. Until then chapters will be shorter but this will allow me to write in some elements that I haven't had the time or space to explore. My plan is to write those in before moving forward with the main plot/climax. 
> 
> I'm especially excited for the Claire story arch, which honestly came out of nowhere. She is kinda taking over and...I'm kinda loving it. ^__^
> 
> Another beloved character has decided he wants to be a part of this, so that surprise will be showing up in the next couple weeks. Not sure 100% what I'm doing yet so until I figure it out, he will remain unnamed. ;)
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think!


	20. Caroling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas get in the Christmas Spirit, Castiel’s mentorship with Claire deepens, and Castiel goes to take care of his ducks and ends up bringing home a stray.

* * *

The apartment was empty when Castiel arrived home after another long day of teaching. Dean was still at the office and had texted him that he would be there for a while yet, that Cas should go ahead and eat without him because he was planning on being home late. The loft was quiet and empty without his presence. When he had been recovering from the accident, Dean had worked from home. He was always just a room away, and Castiel found he was a little lonely in his absence. He wandered into their bedroom and lay down on the bed to think.

Christmas was only a couple weeks away and he still had no idea what to get Dean to show how much he cared. He’d never bought a gift for a significant other before. Things with Balthazar hadn’t lasted long enough to make it to either of their birthdays, let alone any major holidays.

Castiel dug his phone out of his pocket with a sigh and scrolled through his contacts. He needed some advice, and who better to ask than someone who knew a thing or two about being in a long-term relationship?

He sat up on the bed, waiting impatiently for the call to go through. He felt his heart speed up a little as the ringing stopped, indicating that the call had been answered. 

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel greeted first.

“Cas?” Sam’s voice as he answered sounded concerned. “Is everything alright? Is Dean—?”

“What? Oh. Yes, everything is fine. Dean is well,” Castiel reassured him, “I…ahh…had something I wanted to ask you.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah. Shoot,” Sam replied.

“I wondered if you could help me with what to get Dean for Christmas,” Castiel said.

Sam was silent for a moment, pondering the question.

“Huh, that’s a tough one,” he said finally, “I mean, if he wants something he usually just goes and buys it.”

“Yes, that is exactly my dilemma,” Castiel admitted. He sighed. “He has told me that he is getting me something… _expensive_ and…I simply don’t know what I should…” He trailed off and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry. It was silly of me to call.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Hey,” Sam said, “Dean’s pretty easy to please. It’s all cars, pie, and rock and roll with him. So...you know, those are all pretty safe options.”

Castiel made a low discontented _hmm_ and stared down at his shoes.

“Those are all such…ordinary choices,” he said, “I would like to get him something meaningful.”

“Yeah, don’t know what to tell you about that, man,” Sam said, “I haven’t figured out what to get him yet either. If you think of anything, maybe we can go in it together.”

“What would you like, Sam?” Castiel asked abruptly, changing the subject, “And Jess? I’m afraid I don’t know what she likes either. Besides lobster.”

Sam’s laughter filtered in over the line.

“She likes to shop,” Sam told him, “Sometimes I wonder if she sticks with me just for the fancy credit cards,” he joked. “But really, you don’t need to worry about me. I wasn’t sure what to get you either so maybe…I mean, if you’re okay with it we could just agree not to exchange gifts this year.”

“I would be fine with that,” Castiel told him, “I will see you and Jess for the holidays. That in itself will be a gift.”

Sam chuckled.

“Wow, you really are that sappy. I was sure Dean was exaggerating,” he remarked.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Castiel asked him. He felt his eyes narrow.

“Nothing, just something he said. Anyway, uh…wish I could be more help but I’m not sure what else to tell you.”

“If I think of something, I will let you know,” Castiel promised him.

“Yeah, you do that. I’ll see you at Christmas, okay?” Sam said.

“Yes, I will see you then. Take care, Sam,” Castiel said.

“You too, Cas,” Sam replied.

Castiel hung up and looked down at his phone, contemplating everything Sam had said. The phone call hadn’t been a complete waste. He had an idea of what to get Jess now, and since Sam and him had agreed not to exchange gifts that only left Dean and his father to figure out.

Castiel fell back onto the pillow with a long sigh. If only he knew…

A thought hit him out of nowhere and he shot back up, turning the idea over in his mind. Yes… _yes_. Dean was sure to love it.

He grabbed his phone and typed out a quick text to Sam to ask him his opinion. He only had to wait a moment before the reply came.

_‘That’s a great idea! Let me know what you need me to do.’_

Cas sent out an affirmative reply and laid back on the bed with a contented sigh. Now he just had to figure out what to get John and the rest of his friends.

* * *

Dean sat at his desk in his office nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee. He stared blankly at the report in front of him—the projected figures for the end of the quarter—and tried once again to make sense of them. He took another slurping sip of the dark bitter brew. The numbers on the page swirled in front of him, blurring into one large, jumbled mess. He had absolutely no idea what the fuck he was doing.

Dean peered down into his mug. Putting a generous amount of whiskey in the coffee might not have been the best idea, but it was Friday evening and…well, he’d needed something to motivate him enough to get through the last couple hours of the day. It sucked when the boss had to stay late this near to Christmas.

Dean sighed and set the mug back down. Perhaps if his mind wasn’t occupied with other things he would be able to concentrate better. He’d told Cas he was getting him something expensive for a Christmas gift but…he had yet to figure out what that was. Time was running out.

Dean sighed again and picked up his phone. The only thing he was doing here was wasting time. He’d bring the reports home with him and hopefully get some inspiration over the weekend to tackle them.

He grabbed the files and his coat and turned off the lights to his office.

Castiel was cooking dinner when he arrived back at the apartment. Something that smelled spicy and delicious. Dean took a deep breath as he shucked his shoes and coat at the door, let it out in a contented sigh, and went to find his boyfriend. The sight of Castiel in his kitchen did wonders to wash away the weariness of the day, and Dean felt the by-now familiar wave of happiness rush through him as his eyes swept over Castiel’s graceful form standing in front of his stove. He really was the most beautiful man Dean had ever known. 

He must have made a noise upon entering the room because Castiel suddenly turned and looked up from what he was doing. His face lit up in a bright smile when he saw Dean, and Dean put his briefcase down so that he could greet him with a long kiss.

“How was your day?” he asked when he pulled back.

“It was uneventful,” Castiel replied, “What about yours?”

Dean merely shrugged to say it had been uneventful for him as well and stole a bite of the thing simmering on the stove. Jambalaya, as it turned out. Dean let out a whimper as it burned his tongue. Castiel tutted at him and shot him a look that said he deserved it. Dean kissed him again with the taste of cayenne still on his tongue.

“The first rehearsal for the Christmas concert is in an hour,” Castiel informed him when he pulled away, turning his attention back to the pot on the stove, “I will be home late. Around ten.”

“You need a lift?” Dean asked him, hovering close to his side.

Castiel shook his head.

“It is a nice night. I planned on walking,” he replied. He took the bowls Dean handed him and scooped two servings into them. These they brought over to the breakfast bar, where they sat in quiet contentment as they ate.

Cas left shortly after dinner for rehearsal, leaving Dean to wander around his apartment in the dark, beer in hand as he once again thought about what to get Castiel for Christmas. He came to a stop in front of the Christmas tree they had put up together. There were a few presents already wrapped and stuck under it for family and friends. Cas had yet to put anything there with his name on it, so maybe he was having just as much of a hard time as Dean was thinking up a gift.

Dean wandered into the small room off from the living room where they had stored the pool table temporarily. He hoped a couple hours of shooting balls into corner pockets might help jog some ideas.

As soon as he stepped into the room a thought occurred to him. Dean froze just over the threshold, noting the boxes of his things from California stacked helter-skelter around the room as he turned the thought over in his mind.

It only took a minute of deliberation to come to a decision. He could do it. He could even do it without Cas finding out about it. He had choir practice a few days a week for the upcoming concert and that meant Dean had plenty of time to get things ready. The tricky part would be keeping Cas in the dark about everything, but if he was careful, Dean felt sure he could pull it off. 

Dean set his beer down on one of the boxes and got to work.

* * *

The following night, to kickoff of the twelve days of Christmas, (a day early, because who the hell wanted to party on a _Sunday_?) Charlie, Anna, Chuck, and Jo came over for a holiday showing of Dean’s favorite Christmas movie.

_Die Hard_.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said when Dean handed him the DVD and he read the synopsis on the back cover, “How is this a Christmas movie?”

“It takes place on Christmas Eve,” Dean explained to him.

Dean had the DVD queued up and ready to go and was just grabbing six chilled goblets out of the freezer for the eggnog when there was a buzz from the doorman.

_“Someone’s here for you,”_ the doorman, Crowley, called through the speaker, “ _Name of Charlie?”_

“Send her up,” Dean told him, pressing the ‘talk’ button, “We got a couple more coming.” He listed them off and then hung up.

A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. Dean opened it and through it came a squealing blur of red.

“Eeeeee, Dean!!” Charlie threw her arms around Dean’s middle in a big hug. Dean chuckled and returned it with a friendly squeeze.

“I saw you at the office yesterday, you dork,” he said fondly, bopping her lightly on the head.

Charlie rested her chin on his chest and looked up at him with sparkling brown eyes.

“I know, but this is the first time we’re hanging out!” she said, “And you said there would be hot girls.”

Dean laughed.

“I did say that,” he replied, “I never said they were available. Anna has a boyfriend and Jo…far as I know she’s straight as a bean pole.”

Charlie peered up at him with a crooked grin.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said.

The speaker crackled again just as Dean extracted himself from her embrace and closed the door.

_“Number two, on the way up.”_

Charlie moved past Dean to where Cas was standing in the middle of the foyer to greet her.

“Cas!” Charlie exclaimed, running into his open arms.

Castiel wrapped them around her warmly and squeezed.

“Charlie. I missed you,” he said, looking down at her.

“Missed you too, dopey,” Charlie said through a beaming smile, “Really glad you didn’t die. I’m sorry I never stopped by to see how you were doing. Dean has me on this huge project reprogramming the entire company’s database.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows.

“He hadn’t mentioned. That sounds…complicated. And impressive.”

“Try tedious and infuriating,” Charlie remarked. She pulled away from the hug and bounced a little on her feet. “But, that’s why he’s paying me the big bucks,” she said excitedly. “I’ve got a swanky new apartment super close to the office. View of the park and everything. It’s amazing!”

Dean came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I pay you a lot so that you stay out of trouble,” he said, smiling down at her.

Charlie was about to provide a snide remark when there was another knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Cas volunteered, moving around them. He opened the door with a warm, “Chuck. Anna. So glad you could make it,” and ushered them in.

They hung out near the breakfast bar while they waited for the last guest to arrive. About ten minutes later, there was another knock at the door.

“Hey Jo,” Dean greeted, swinging the door open wide, “Glad you could make it. Did’ja bring the eggnog?” he asked.

“Right here,” Jo said, holding it up. She gave Dean a quick, one-armed hug. “Where do you want this?”

“I’ll take it,” Dean said. He turned and held the pitcher over his head and shouted, “I’ve got the ‘nog!!” down the hallway.

Jo laughed and followed him. Dean set it down in the middle of the breakfast bar and started pouring out glasses for everyone.

“So. You must be Jo,” Charlie said, stepping up to the newest addition to their group. Her hands hung from the back pockets of her jeans. “I’m Charlie,” she introduced, holding out a hand. Jo took it with a smile.

“Charlie. Right,” she said, “Dean and Cas told me about you. It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Charlie said with a flirtatious smile, “Dean told me you were hot, but honestly? I think he was downplaying it by like, a _lot_.”

“Yeah?” Jo blurted out in pleased surprise.

“Yep. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you hailed from the planet Risa,” Charlie replied with a wink.

“Is that better than hot?” Jo asked, confused, but Charlie was already walking away. “What does that even mean?”

She didn’t get an answer, because at that moment Dean raised his voice over the small gathering.

“Everyone ready to get this party started?” he asked, picking up the two trays of snacks in his hands. A wave of nods went around the room. Dean gestured for them to follow him with a tilt of his head and so they all grabbed their glasses and plates of food and wandered after him, holding the platters in his hands high with a dramatic flair.

Castiel grabbed the pitcher of eggnog, and with Anna helping by carrying his drink they were able to get it all in one go.

As they settled around the couch after Dean had set down the platters of food—wings, cheese and crackers, tiny quiches—and Cas the pitcher of eggnog, Dean straightened and clapped his hands.

“Okay,” he announced, “Welcome to the Die Hard Christmas Drinking Challenge. You all have your eggnog?” At the chorus of affirmatives that went around the room, he continued. “Great. Here’s how this works. Anytime someone says ‘Nakatomi’, you drink. If there’s a Christmas reference or a Christmas song starts playing, you drink. When McClane talks about being a cop, you drink. And when somebody dies, you _drink_.” He grabbed something from the coffee table that was hidden behind a stack of coasters and waved it in the air. “I have a buzzer in case anyone slacks off. If you get buzzed, you have to take a shot of Warninks.” He pointed to the yellow bottle of liquor on the table. “It’s basically egg yolks and brandy and…I dunno, I guess it’s a Christmas thing.” He made a face and shrugged. “Oh, and just so I don’t give away any spoilers, I’ll let you know when we reach the part where you chug whatever you’ve got left. Kapish?”

“This sounds dangerous,” Castiel said wearily, taking an experimental sip of his eggnog. As expected, it was mostly rum.

“Die Hard Christmas!” Dean shouted. He collapsed down on the couch between Castiel and Charlie.

“Hey, show your Queen some respect,” Charlie complained at him when he practically sat on her. She elbowed him playfully and settled a little closer to Jo on the couch.

Dean blurted out a quick apology and then hit the play button. He pretended not to notice the ghost of a smirk on Charlie’s face or the way Jo had blushed when she had scooted closer. He looped his own arm around Cas and pulled him in for a quick kiss, spicy with the taste of rum and nutmeg on his tongue, and settled closer next to him with his own drink.

They didn’t make it two minutes into the movie before McClane told someone he was a cop _and_ there was a reference to Christmas. Both Dean and Charlie let out a loud _“Huzzah!”_ and raised the glass to their lips. It was clear they had done this before. The rest of the room followed in staggered succession.

Castiel refilled his eggnog twice before he learned he could feign taking a small sip fairly well since everyone else was far too busy drinking themselves to notice.

Dean fell asleep about three quarters of the way through the movie. One minute Castiel felt a weight drop against his shoulder, and in the next there was a loud snore right in his ear. It was a relatively quiet scene for once so the entire room heard it.

“Jesus, he sounds like Hagrid,” Charlie remarked. She stopped paying attention to the movie and poked at Dean’s cheek. Dean responded with a snuffling noise and something babbled in a murmur that was too jumbled to make out.

“Wow, he’s really out, huh?” Jo said, leaning over.

They both watched as Dean gave another loud snore. 

“God, he’s loud. I don’t know how you put up with that,” Charlie said to Cas.

“He doesn’t do it all the time. Only when there is a lot on his mind,” Castiel said, then added, “It doesn’t bother me.”

“He’s been putting in a lot of extra hours the past couple weeks,” Charlie noted, “I caught him a couple of times napping in his office.”

“He was working all day today too,” Castiel replied. He frowned. “He’ll be upset if he misses the movie. I’ll wake him up.”

“Wait! Before you do, I have an idea,” Charlie said. She ran into the other room for her bag and came back with a reindeer-antler headband and a sharpie. She held both up with a wicked grin. “Everyone knows the first person to fall asleep at a party gets pranked.”

By this point nobody was paying attention to the movie. Charlie started by drawing a large dick on Dean’s right cheek. Anna, who was not only a master calligrapher but also an extremely talented artist took the pen from her and added a generous pair of balls.

“Give it some hair,” Chuck chimed in. He had finished what had been either his fifth or sixth goblet of eggnog and was chewing on a chunk of ice from the bottom of the glass when he offered this lovely drunken idea.

Anna obliged, going as far to draw a detailed vein up the side of the dick. Castiel tried not to laugh as he watched all of this from inches away. Then Jo nudged Anna for the sharpie and began to write on the other cheek the lyrics to _Jingle Bells_. Only she replaced the word _bells_ with _balls_.

A chorus of tittering laughter and a couple shushes went around the room when Charlie started snapping pictures. Then Jo grabbed the buzzer from the coffee table and held it up near Dean’s ear.

“This will not end well,” Castiel muttered, leaning away from Dean’s sleeping face when Charlie gave the signal and Jo hit the buzzer.

“WHAA—’m awake!” Dean shouted, launching off of Castiel’s shoulder. Dean looked around sleep-dazed, then saw the phone in Charlie’s hand and the buzzer in Jo’s. He wiped a hand over his face, unknowingly smudging the ink. “What the hell, guys?” Dean turned to Cas, who shook his head innocently.

“I had nothing to do with it,” he said.

“Yeah, well you could have tried a little harder to stop them,” Dean griped at him.

“I assure you I did my best,” Castiel replied with a mischievous smirk. He glanced up to the reindeer antlers on top of Dean’s head.

“Uh huh,” Dean replied, skeptical.

Charlie nudged him with the bottle of Warniks.

“Hey, reindeer games, you owe us like…at least three shots of this shit to make up for all the deaths and Christmas references you missed when you were out,” the redhead told him.

Behind her, Chuck was softly singing _Jingle Bells_. Only he wasn’t singing about bells.

“Rein…what?” Dean started to ask. He glanced at Cas, who was looking at something over his head again and failing miserably in his attempt not to smile. Dean reached up and his fingers brushed something made of felt. He pulled whatever-it-was off and scowled. “Oh come on!” Then he noticed the smudge of black ink on his palm and noticed the three of them attempting not to laugh.

Chuck’s singing got louder.

_“Jingle Balls,_

_Jingle Balls,_

_Jingle all the way._

_Oh what fun—!”_

Dean launched off the couch and ran for the bathroom mirror. His shout could be heard over the sound of Nakatomi plaza blowing up on his incredibly expensive surround sound.

“SON OF A BITCH!!”

The room broke out in hysterics, with Charlie and Jo clinging to each other for support as they doubled over in laughter and Chuck practically in Anna’s lap crying. Cas had a grin stretched ear to ear that was making his face hurt.

They had to rewind a good portion of the movie and watch it over since they’d all missed it either by falling asleep or dicking around (literally, as it were). This time when Hanz Gruber fell off Nakatomi Plaza, they all downed their drinks. The last one to finish—Castiel hadn’t realized it was a race and lost—was forced to take a shot of Warniks. Castiel sniffed it and tossed it back, smacking his lips with a satisfied, _“Hm.”_ It actually didn’t taste bad, rather like a richer, creamier eggnog.

The party ended shortly after the movie, and then Cas and Dean were hugging everyone goodbye and inviting them over for New Years.

“That was fun, huh?” Dean said while they were in the bathroom getting ready for bed.

Castiel nodded and put away his toothbrush. He grabbed a washcloth and stepped up to Dean.

“You ahh…still have some marker on your face,” he said, dabbing at Dean’s cheek with the cloth.

Dean grabbed it from him and leaned in to the mirror.

“You realize that Charlie now has blackmail material on me because of you,” he said.

“You were sleeping on me. There was nothing I could do,” Castiel replied innocently.

“Liar,” Dean said, “You could’ve grabbed the marker away.”

Castiel grinned and held up his bum arm.

“The doctor said not to do anything that would overexert it,” he said.

“Uh huh.” Dean raised an eyebrow at his smirking boyfriend when it hit him. Dean had fallen asleep on his _right_ shoulder, which would mean his _left_ arm—his good arm—would have been free, not the one with the cast. Castiel must have caught the gleam in his eye because in the next moment he was darting out of the bathroom with a whoop of laughter.

“Come back here!” Dean yelled after him, chasing Castiel back to their bedroom. He caught up with him halfway to the bed with a playful growl and a scramble of fingers under his armpits that had Cas squealing in hysterics. Then Dean grabbed him around the middle and heaved him onto the mattress. Castiel was laughing so hard he was having trouble breathing. Dean straddled him on the bed and tickled his sides, making him laugh even harder.

“ _Dean!_ M- mercy!” Castiel laughed breathlessly.

“Oh, no, see, you had this coming,” Dean told him, tickling him again and grabbing Cas by the wrists when he tried to wriggle free. Suddenly Dean was pressed down on his chest and Cas let out his breath with a dull _whoof_ of air. A pair of striking green eyes peered at him and a pleasant tingle ran down his spine. Dean ground his hips against Cas and smirked down at him. “You want me to jingle your bells, Cas?” he flirted.

“ _Yes_ ,” Castiel breathed, letting out a moan as Dean ground down against him again. “Dean, please,” he pleaded on an exhale. Dean pressed a kiss to his neck and smiled against his skin.

“I love it when you beg,” he said in a sultry, low voice. Then he growled and nipped at the skin under Cas’s jawline, drawing a faint moan from the man.

“Gonna jingle ‘em all the way,” Dean said against him.

Castiel replied, “Oh what fun,” in such a dry, monotone voice that Dean snorted into his neck. Then they were laughing again, far too hard for either of them to jingle anything.

Both fell asleep that night with _Jingle Balls_ stuck in their head.

* * *

They spent the next morning lounging in bed, cozy and warm under the covers. It had snowed overnight, and the cityscape outside had been transformed into a wild, white wonderland. Car horns were muffled by the snow, and loud enthusiastic shouts of children playing echoed from the park. They rose mid-morning to attend church and then after headed out after for a Christmas-themed date.

Dean had the whole thing planned out.

The first thing he did was present Cas with a brand new winter getup—a tan pea coat and a vibrantly blue Kashmir scarf to match his eyes. Dean had them hanging in the foyer and when Castiel reached for the peg where his trench coat usually hung, he found these new items in its place instead. He hesitated and drew his hand away.

“Dean, do you know where my coat is?” Cas asked him.

“That is your coat,” Dean replied. He took the coat off the peg and held it out for Cas to slip his arms into.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said as Dean settled the coat on his shoulders and then looped the scarf around his neck a couple times, “Is this an early Christmas gift?”

Dean chuckled and tied the ends of the scarf into a loose knot.

“No, it’s a Christmas _date_ gift,” he said, “Doesn’t count toward Christmas.”

Castiel eyed the scarf, then reached up and felt the delicate softness of the fabric.

“Dean, this must have been expensive,” he said.

“It’s just a coat, Cas,” Dean said, rolling his eyes, “And, yeah, okay. A _semi-expensive_ scarf. Now can we go? I’ve got the whole afternoon planned.”

He thought Castiel might argue the issue further, but then he seemed to come to an internal decision (possibly realizing the futility of arguing with Dean) and said, “Very well,” in resignation. Dean grinned at him and dropped a kiss on his lips.

“Awesome,” he said.

Dean had the driver drop them near Rockefeller Center and they walked the rest of the way to see the grand Christmas tree their home city was so famous for. Castiel took in a deep breath and beamed up at the tree, which was done this year in shades of gold and Venetian blue.

“It’s different every year, and every year I tell myself that, no, this is the best one yet, they can’t possibly outdo themselves next year. And every time I am proven wrong,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded next to him, his lips pursed as he considered Cas’s words. The tree was simply magnificent. He couldn’t imagine it being any better.

He grinned and dug his phone out of his pocket, then grabbed Castiel by the arm, hooking it in with his.

“Picture time,” he said, holding up his phone.

They took a dozen or so shots before a woman with her young daughter stopped and asked if they would like their picture taken. They accepted her offer and Dean handed over his phone, and they proceeded to take a number of photos in different poses. Dean thanked the woman and then flipped through them with a growing smile, then glanced over to Cas to find him grinning too. Blue eyes met his, and then Cas was leaning in to kiss him thoroughly.

Dean had to admit—there was something magical about kissing Castiel in front of that tree.

Of course they had kissed for the photo shoot, but that had been staged, their attention on the camera, not each other. This was different. This felt like all the lights got turned up to dazzling and warm honey dripping over bread and something like the taste of stardust underwater. _Vivid_ and _real_ and breathing life into him. Into his soul.

Dean drew back and trailed this thumb down the side of Castiel’s face, following it with his eyes. He pressed a kiss to Castiel’s temple, and another at his forehead. He held Castiel’s face in his hands and felt as though he were drowning in liquid sapphire.

“Excuse me?” a woman approached them, tapping Castiel on the shoulder. Dean’s hands dropped away and they broke apart.

“Hm?” Castiel said in question, turning around at the woman’s touch.

The woman smiled and held up what looked to be a professional camera.

“Do you mind if I take your picture? It’s for a magazine article,” she explained.

“Ahh…I’m fine with it. Dean?” Castiel said, turning to his boyfriend.

Dean’s mouth floundered for a moment before he settled on, “Uh, thanks but no thanks.”

The woman nodded, bade them a Merry Christmas and walked away. Dean held up his hand and flashed her a fake smile as she left, watching as she approached a different couple, this time one that accepted her request. He could feel Castiel’s confused, curious gaze burning a hole in the side of his head, and turned, as expected, to find Cas peering at him with intense focus.

“Dean, why didn’t you want her to take our picture?” he asked, “ _You_ , whose every sexual encounter has been publicized for the entire world to read about. You never cared before.”

Dean shrugged and looked down to the sidewalk, scuffing his shoe against a piece of ice and snow.

“I don’t want to end up in the tabloids,” he muttered, “Not with you.” Dean stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders before he explained. “When I met you, that’s when that part of me—the old me or whatever you want to call it—that was the end of it. I want that person to stay in the past, you know? And I feel like if…if it happened with you then it might…”

He trailed off, too embarrassed to continue.

“….jinx it?” Castiel finished for him.

Dean winced and nodded, knowing how stupid it sounded, knowing it wasn’t true, because Cas was just _different_ from everyone else.

“I know it sounds insane,” Dean said, opening his eyes and holding out his hands in defense, “but I just _really_ don’t want to push it.”

“Push what?” Castiel asked, confused.

“I dunno—fate? Destiny? God?” Dean rolled his eyes at that last one and shook his head, “I didn’t used to believe any of that crap, but lately? It’s like—like—”

“Like forces outside of us are drawing us ever closer together?” Castiel finished for him.

“ _Yes_ ,” Dean said emphatically, “That. _Dude_. How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” Castiel asked, squinting at him.

“Finishing my sentences. Reading my mind. Whatever freaky physic shit it is you’re doing,” Dean said.

“Oh. No, I just…I feel what you are feeling,” Castiel explained, “So I understand what you are saying.”

“Right. And that’s not freaky or physic at all,” Dean muttered. He gave Castiel a weak smile. “So you’re not upset I sent that photographer away?” he asked.

Castiel shook his head.

“No. And after giving it some thought, I agree with you…though for different reasons. I believe if the world were to find out about us through a tabloid magazine people would not take it seriously and they might…cause you trouble. Or they might come after me, or both of us. Who knows. Either way it would not be good.”

“Yeah. Hadn’t thought of that,” Dean muttered. He slipped his hand into Cas’s and steered them toward the skating rink. After a minute, Dean glanced over to Cas. “Hey, Cas?” he said in a soft voice.

“Hm?” Castiel turned and looked up at him, smiling.

Dean leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Only it didn’t _sound_ like ‘Merry Christmas’. It sounded like _I love you_.

Castiel’s smile deepened. He looked up at the man he loved with a soft blush across his nose.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” he replied warmly.

They grabbed rental skates and before he knew it, Castiel found himself wobbling forward toward the ice skating rink, with Dean ready to catch him should he fall _before_ actually getting out on the ice. The floor was uneven and slippery in places, and Castiel thought that if this was bad than what came next would surely be much harder.

But it wasn’t.

Dean entered ahead of him and then turned and held out his hands. Castiel took them and with a gentle tug from Dean found himself gliding out onto the ice. He looked down in wonder at how smooth the ground underneath him was.

“Ready?” Dean asked him.

Castiel nodded eagerly.

“Okay. Couple of things to remember. Keep your knees bent,” Dean directed, swiping at Cas’s leg with his hand, “Chances are you’re gonna fall, so make sure you stay loose and don’t tense up when you do. And try not to break your fall with your wrist cuz that’s a good way to get hurt.”

“Don’t worry. If I fall I’ll make sure it’s on the bad arm,” Castiel replied sarcastically.

“Hah. Keep this up and I’ll tow you out to the middle and leave you like a beached whale,” Dean threatened.

“You wouldn’t,” Castiel said, squinting at him.

“I’d take pictures,” Dean told him.

“Hmph. Some boyfriend you are,” Castiel grumbled, “I’m sure I would figure it out.”

“I could raise you that bet,” Dean offered.

“Ahh…no. Thank you,” Castiel said quickly, blushing. Why, he wasn’t entirely sure, until he realized that Dean would surely attempt to catch him should he fall. “So, don’t land on my arm, knees bent. What else?” Castiel asked, attempting to focus away from how it would feel to fall into Dean’s embrace. To think he was doomed and then have those strong, bulging biceps wrap around him. To look up with a surprised gasp into laughing golden-green eyes and a face as bronze as the statue at the entrance to the rink.

“—of the other,” Dean was saying.

“What?” Castiel blurted, shaking out of his fantasy.

Dean grinned at him in a way that had Cas wondering if he knew what he was thinking.

“Keep your skates about hip width apart and one slightly in front of the other at all times. Push the skates to the side to move and kinda…glide forward.”

Castiel glanced out into the crowd to get an idea of how people were moving, since Dean was moving backwards in a completely different way. Feeling he now understood what the goal was, Castiel attempted to try it.

Instead of a glide it was a wobble and then a stumble forward as his skate hit a groove in the ice. He lost his grip on Dean’s hands and his arms pin-wheeled backward to try and keep his balance but it was too late. He felt himself begin to fall.

Then suddenly Dean’s strong arms were under his armpits and he thought he was saved but then Dean was falling too and Castiel was falling into him, but not in the way he’d imagined.

Castiel landed against Dean’s chest and between his legs in a very compromising position. Dean grinned at him coyly and shifted his hips ever-so-slightly to rub up against him.

“You jinglin’ my balls, Cas?” he flirted.

“Really, Dean,” Castiel said, shaking his head and extracting himself from Dean in an attempt to get back to his feet. He got to his knees before Dean was pulling him up against his solid, muscular form. He held Castiel for the space of a long breath and just gazed at him with such fire and affection in his eyes that it left him speechless.

When Dean leaned in to kiss him, he gasped. When he felt a tongue lick across his bottom lip, he forgot they were in public and opened his mouth. When Dean shifted his mouth against his and traced the tip of his tongue alongside his, as far back as he could go, he forgot which planet he was on and groaned.

“There’s my fiery angel,” Dean murmured against his lips when he pulled away, leaving Castiel breathless. Then he moved back, took Cas by the hands, and attempted to continue teaching him how to skate.

After the third lap around the rink, Castiel straightened and seemed a lot more confident in his abilities.

“I think I am getting the hang of this,” he said, which was the precise moment he remembered to keep his knees bent a moment too late. He collapsed in a heap on his ass. _“Ouch.”_

Dean just chuckled and helped him to his feet again.

“I’ll wait to notify the Olympics,” he teased, then in the next moment said, “Come on, Cas. You got this.”

Somewhere on the fifth or six lap around the rink things just sort of _clicked_ in Castiel’s head and suddenly his feet and legs were moving of their own accord, his body shifting instinctually. He pushed forward with sudden confidence.

“There you go, there you go!” Dean exclaimed in excitement, letting go of his hands. He grinned once he knew Castiel was staying up on his own this time. “Come on, Cas, let me see you fly!”

Castiel nodded, the look on his face one of intense focus. He pushed forward again and again and felt himself accelerating. A smile broke out across his face. He was doing it! He was skating!

Castiel looked down at his feet speeding over the ice in awe. When he looked back up the group in front of him was a lot closer. His eyes widened.

“Cas, watch the—” Dean started to yell, just as Castiel cried out, “Dean, how do I stop!?”

Dean grabbed him by the sleeve of his coat and dragged him in a tight circle back around to the opposite direction so that he wouldn’t crash into the other skaters. Unfortunately this put both him and Cas off balance and they went tumbling down to the ice again. This time Dean got a nice whack in the head from Castiel’s cast on the way down. He winced and rubbed his forehead.

“How come I always end up on the bottom?” Dean complained.

“Because you love it,” Castiel replied succinctly. He grunted and climbed off of Dean, helping him up. “Dean, what kind of dolt instructor doesn’t teach his pupil how to _stop_?”

“Yeah, my bad,” Dean said, but he was grinning infectiously and it was hard to be irritated at the man when was in such high spirits. “You okay?”

“I may have a few bruises tomorrow but I’ll live,” Castiel replied gruffly. There was a slight smile to his lips that told Dean he was forgiven. 

“Hey, you were skating,” Dean said, nudging him, “You’re halfway there. Why don’t I teach you the other side of the equation?”

Learning to stop took a lot less time than learning how to go, and now that he had both down, Castiel relaxed and moved with such grace that it was kind of blowing Dean away. He whistled low as Cas turned a tight figure eight and stopped without a hint of a wobble.

“You’re a natural,” he noted.

He held out his hand and tucked Cas’s arm into his elbow. Castiel beamed up at him, his eyes bright and bluer than the sky above them as he hung off Dean’s arm, nestled into his side like…like a turtle dove coming home to roost. Dean shook his head. The thought was so overtly romantic and sappy that he wondered...just how much was this man changing him? The comfort he felt with Cas by his side…he never expected to need it this much, like he needed air to breath. It felt so natural, so unhurried, so _vivid_ —like the moment Cas walked into his life was that moment a camera comes into focus. Things just felt _right_ with Cas by his side.

They skated until the sun dipped below the horizon and the temperature dropped a good ten degrees, and then Dean pulled them off the rink toward a little café nearby that sold wonderful hot cocoa. They sipped this sitting shoulder to shoulder on a bench, watching the skaters on the rink go round and round and round. Dean had his arm slung over Castiel’s shoulders and he was pressed into Dean’s side, a comforting warmth.

“Cas, you ever think about the future?” Dean asked him suddenly.

Castiel lowered the cup from his lips and turned to peer at him with intensely focused blue eyes.

“All the time,” he replied.

“And? What do you think about?” Dean pressed.

Castiel was silent for a long moment, turning that question over in his mind.

“I think about how far away it feels,” he replied finally, “And yet paradoxically it feels like I’m running out of time. It is a strange feeling.”

He took a deep breath. What he didn’t say is that it scared him, thoughts of the future—not because he was afraid of getting there, but because he was afraid it would never come to pass.

Dean nodded, considering his words for a minute.

“I think about where we might end up,” Dean said, “Whether this will last, because it feels too good to be true sometimes, you know? But then I think, no, that can’t be right because it’s not like what we have is perfect.” He looked over at Cas. “We’ve got our issues. But when I think about the future it’s not about that. It’s about…being happy—being _grateful_ and appreciating every day you get. Cuz you never know how long you have together. You know?”

Castiel nodded. He didn’t know why, but Dean speaking aloud his matching fears in a way that was so hopeful brought tears to his eyes. But they weren’t sad tears. Not really, anyway.

Dean turned and smiled at Castiel, who mirrored it back at him in a gentle curve of lips and a softness in his eyes. Then he leaned in and kissed him.

“You ready for part three?” Dean asked him when they broke apart.

“There’s a part three?” Castiel answered. Dean just grinned at him as though it were obvious so he said, “Very well, lead the way.”

Dean texted the driver to come get them and then they warmed up in the heat-blasted back seat while they headed back uptown. The driver pulled to a stop outside the park.

Dean grinned and hopped out of the car, running around to the other side to open the door for Cas. Then he slid an arm around Castiel, gave the driver a two-fingered salute to send him off, and steered them toward the entrance to the park.

“Are we taking a walk to see the Christmas decorations?” Castiel asked, following along at his side.

“Not exactly,” Dean replied, turning them toward the line of horse-drawn carriages lined up along the lane. Castiel gasped when he realized what Dean had planned—a Christmas carriage ride!

The carriages were decorated with evergreen garlands and strings of white lights, and most of the horses—including the large black stallion that they stopped in front of—had red bows weaved into their manes. Castiel patted the horse’s nose while Dean paid their driver and then they were stepping up into the carriage. The driver handed them a thick wool blanket to drape over them and then with a glance to Dean, an excited smile, and a small jolt from the carriage, they were off.

The horse walked at a leisurely pace, winding through the park. With the freshly fallen snow, it was like something out of a Christmas carol, a true winter wonderland.

The driver had a small hand-held radio on low in the front seat. _Sleigh Ride_ was playing. Castiel hummed a few bars under his breath and snuggled closer to Dean, who whistled the next few notes. Then they were both singing softly.

_“Giddy yap, giddy yap, giddy up it’s grand, just holding your hand._

_We’re gliding along with a song to a wintry fairyland._

_“Our cheeks are nice and rosy and comfy cozy are we._

_We’re snuggled close together like two birds of a feather would be._

_Let’s take that road before us and sing a chorus or two._

_Come on it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you.”_

The song changed to _Jingle Bell Rock_ , and they sang along with that too. It started to snow somewhere in the middle of _Winter Wonderland_ , and the delicate white flakes settled down on the thick woolen blanket keeping them warm as the carriage continued on through the park. The horse snorted a couple times, stopped once for a pit stop—or a _shit stop_ as Dean called it—and flicked his ears in agitation anytime a car horn blared too close by.

The ride ended on the other side of the park, where the car was waiting to take them the rest of the way home. They were only a few blocks away, and Castiel started to say to Dean that they should just walk when a cold gust of arctic air swept through him and he promptly shut his mouth.

Dean made them adult hot cocoa when they got home, and though it wasn’t a real hearth like they’d had at Rufus’s cabin, the gas fireplace in Dean’s room was still cozy in its own way. They had finished Dean’s motorcycle book the night before, and this time Castiel chose the title. This one was a mountaineering novel about one of the first expeditions to the world’s second-highest mountain, K2—a fitting choice for the weather outside, which according to the forecast was going to dump another three to six inches on them overnight.

Castiel for once felt safe and warm curled up next to Dean in bed with his Bailey’s-and-peppermint-schnapps-laced hot cocoa. Not like he would if he were at his apartment. Snow storms always seemed a lot more malevolent when they were rattling the drafty old window over his head and making him shiver all night long.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured softly as they were falling asleep, “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we end up.”

Dean smiled and pressed his lips into Cas’s hair.

“’S gonna be epic,” Dean replied sleepily, “Promise.”

* * *

The next morning, Castiel was grateful for his new coat on his way in to the group home. The wind was gusting frigidly cold air that turned the subway into an icebox. Even with the extra layers he was half-frozen by the time he arrived.

Claire as usual was being difficult. She’d insisted he watch a music video with her, and then spent a good fifteen minutes wondering where the band got their name, which led to her asking Castiel about his name, and then went on about how she sorta-sometimes liked her name but other times really hated it.

“Claire—” Castiel tried to cut in.

“I always liked the name Kaia,” Claire said, “There was this girl once—.”

“ _Claire_ —” Cast tried again.

“Do you like your name?” Claire asked him.

“Yes, it so happens I do,” Castiel answered her, “Now will you quit _wasting_ _my time_ and choose a song already?”

“I already—” Claire started to say.

“One that is better suited for the piano,” Castiel interrupted her.

Claire waved her phone around in front of Castiel’s face, where the music video she forced him to watch was still paused at the end.

“Hey, a deal is a deal,” she said. She brought the phone closer. “So? What’s it gonna be, angel boy?”

“I never should have told you the origins of my name,” Castiel grumbled. He snatched the phone from Claire and said, “This was not meant to be played on the piano.” It was a weak attempt to try and convince her to pick a different song.

“I believe in you,” Claire said sarcastically, grinning at him, “And by the way, you have to do the _‘We don’t care’_ parts too.”

Castiel rolled his eyes in exaggeration.

“Claire, I am not—no! I am not here for your own personal enjoyment. I am here to _teach_ you!”

“Then by all means, go ahead,” Claire said, meeting his bluff.

“You—argh, _you_!” Castiel fumed, “Claire, sometimes you make me so—”

Castiel slammed his hands down on the piano in a sudden, jarring blare of chords. He looked back up at Claire as the notes faded and opened his mouth for the first line of the song.

“ _Here’s another song for the radio!”_

Castiel was breathing heavily by the end of it. Claire had chimed in with the _‘We don’t care!’_ bits, shouting alongside of him. The final chords faded, and Castiel sat back from the piano with a heaving gasp and a satisfied slump of his shoulders. He’d thrown all his anger and frustration into the song and it had been…rather cathartic.

He looked to Claire, who was peering at him with a satisfied smirk on her face.

“Admit it,” she said, “You had fun.”

Castiel let out a huff of laughter and smiled back.

“Okay,” he said, “You got me.”

He grinned brightly at the girl, and gestured for her to join him on the bench.

“Would you like to learn how to play it?” he asked.

Claire nodded eagerly and placed her hands where Castiel directed. He walked her through the first few bars and then watched proudly as she played them back to him without any mistakes.

Much later, as they were wrapping up the lesson and Castiel was putting away his sheet music (which they hadn’t used at all—again, and at this point he wondered why he brought it with him at all) that he stopped Claire with a hand to her arm.

“Claire, I have something to say to you,” Castiel said. He lowered his hand. “I think you should consider a career in music,” he told her, “I have never seen anyone with your talent, apart from myself. I believe you could do great things if you were to pursue it seriously.”

Claire’s face immediately hardened.

“What for?” she snapped, “Not like I’ve got the money to go to school anyhow. So why bother dreaming, right?”

“Claire, no. You have options,” Castiel told her, “Scholarships, or through your own power. I believe you can do it if you really put your mind to it. I do. If only because I have yet to see you do something you didn’t want to do.” He took a breath and continued when Claire was quiet. “What we did here today, Claire? The fun we had working together? That is what music can do for a person. That is the kind of life you could have. You only have to want it to make it true. Please just consider it,” he implored her.

Claire was silent, staring at the floor.

“Yeah, whatever,” she mumbled. Her eyes flickered up to Cas’s only briefly. “Hey, I gotta…get to the cafeteria before…you know, all the food is gone. I’ll uh…see you tomorrow…I guess.”

Then she turned and rushed through the door before Castiel could say another word.

“Yes, well,” he said aloud to the empty room, “I will try again tomorrow.”

Castiel gathered his things and left for the day, heading for the park. He had been neglecting his ducks since the accident. He thought maybe a stop on the way home to say hello to Marcin and feed them might help him figure out what to do about Claire.

He never expected it would make things even more complicated.

* * *

Dean heard the front door close from the kitchen where he was making dinner. A call of, _“Dean?”_ followed a moment later. Then there was a low murmur of voices that had Dean furrowing his brow in confusion and craning his neck around the corner. Cas hadn’t mentioned having any guests over tonight. He hadn’t texted to let him know he was bringing someone back with him.

“Cas?” he called in answer, leaving the pan on low to see what was up. “Were we expecting anyone?” he called down the hall.

He turned the corner to see Castiel speaking with a young man no older than sixteen or seventeen. A kid, really. He had blond hair and bright blue eyes—almost as blue as Castiel’s own. The boy stood in the foyer looking tired and ragged. He was wearing Castiel’s coat over what had once been a white long-sleeved shirt. 

“Cas?” Dean said again, this time in question.

“Dean, I can explain,” Castiel began. He stepped in front of the boy and held up his hands defensively, his mouth opening to gaping proportions to do just that, “His name is Jack. I found him in the park. I—I know I should have called first, I should have asked if it was okay to bring him here. I know you don’t want some stranger in your apartment, and I understand that, of course I do, but I—I couldn’t just leave him there, Dean, it’s freezing outside.”

Castiel finished in a _whoosh_ of breath, a look of torment on his face. Dean took a minute, blinked, and slowly worked through everything Cas had said.

“You…brought home a stray?” he asked finally. Castiel glared at him.

“He’s human, Dean. A human being,” Castiel impressed, as though Dean didn’t know that.

“Cas,” Dean said, gripping him by the shoulders, “It’s fine.” He gave Cas a little smile and forced out a laugh. “I uh, guess I should’ve expected as much when I took you in,” he added.

“I am sorry I didn’t call ahead,” Castiel said, lowering his voice, “I was afraid you would say no, and I didn’t want to get into an argument. Jack needed something to eat and a warm place to rest and I didn’t want to—”

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean interrupted him, “I just said I’m okay with it.”

“You—you are?” Castiel blurted.

“Yeah, and if you really care about the kid you’ll stop apologizing and show him where the washroom is before I go and burn our dinner.”

Dean dropped a quick peck on his lips, glanced once at the kid, then turned on his heel and retreated to the kitchen.

Castiel turned to Jack a little dazed to find the boy staring after Dean.

“The ahh…the bathroom is this way. I will show you to the spare bedroom,” Castiel said.

Jack nodded and met his eyes.

“Castiel. Thank you,” he said.

“You are very welcome, Jack,” Castiel replied with a gentle smile. He gestured down the hallway. “Come, it’s this way.”

He showed Jack where the bathroom was and then where he would be staying, as promised. He handed the boy a set of towels from the linen closet and showed him how the shower worked. Jack thanked him again and Castiel left him to it, wandering back to the kitchen to speak with Dean. He sighed, placing a hand to his forehead and wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into. He looked up and dropped the hand as he entered the kitchen.

“Dean?” he said tentatively.

Dean glanced over his shoulder and then went back to cooking.

“Hey, good news—I found another package of hamburg in the freezer so we’ve got more than enough for everybody,” he said, “It’s gonna take a few to thaw but I figure the kid’ll be a while.”

“Dean, are…are you certain you aren’t angry?” Castiel blurted out. He stepped up to Dean’s side and placed a hand on his arm in concern. The gesture was more to sooth himself than Dean, however, if he were to be truly honest.

Dean sighed and put down the spatula. Guess he hadn’t fooled Cas with his fake ‘ _I’m cool with it’_ act.

“Okay, I’m a little pissed,” he admitted, “But not why you think. I’m pissed cuz you didn’t trust I’d say yes.”

“Dean, I told you. I was worried—”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, cutting him off, “This is exactly what I mean, Cas. You didn’t give me— _us_ —the chance to find out. To figure out where we fall when things get real. And until you start, you’re never gonna know what you’ve got.”

Dean’s voice trembled toward the end, his last words cut by the sudden tightness in his throat so that they came out in a forced whisper.

Regret washed over Castiel’s face, cutting across it in deep lines. He raised a hand to Dean’s cheek and drew a breath, swallowing thickly before speaking.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were barely over a whisper. Drowning blue eyes pulled him in.

Dean let out a huff and shook his head.

“I’m not mad at you, Cas,” he said again, “All I’m saying is that it sucks when you don’t trust me in situations like this.”

Castiel nodded vigorously, his tears spilling over. He pressed wet lips to Dean’s a little desperately, if he were being honest.

“I trust you, Dean,” he said when he pulled away, “I know you don’t think I do, but I do.”

“You sure have a screwy way of showing it,” Dean mumbled.

Castiel nodded again in resignation.

“I’ll do better,” he promised. He hesitated, then said, “And Jack?”

“Can’t say I’m crazy about having some random kid here but…it’s only one night, right?” Dean shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like I’m gonna shove him back out onto the streets when it’s this cold out,” Dean said. He gave Cas a goofy grin in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I guess at this point I’m just really hoping you didn’t bring some lunatic home with you.”

Castiel rolled his eyes a little at that and felt his cheeks heat up.

“I talked with him before deciding to bring him here, yes,” Cas said, “Dean, from the short time I spoke with him…he is an exceptionally bright young man. He deserves a chance.”

“Then we give it to him,” Dean said. He wrapped an arm around Cas. “Cas, I’ll admit you had me a little freaked out at first, but I trust you. If you think the kid is worth it—hell, even if he isn’t. It’s Christmas right? And I’m in love with the guy with the biggest, kindest heart in the entire city and—” Dean paused and swooped in for a quick kiss. “I love that you want to help the kid. Makes me want to help him too.”

“Really?” Castiel asked.

“Really,” Dean answered.

Castiel’s whole body relaxed against Dean then, and suddenly the man in his arms weighed a lot more. “Dean, I—” Castiel broke off, speechless. “Thank you.” He pulled Dean into a deep kiss and said again when they drew apart, _“Thank you.”_

Dinner was home-made bacon cheeseburgers, courtesy of the recipe Dean had bribed off the cook at PJ Clarke’s. The only difference was the source of the meat, which the guy had refused to give up no matter how much Dean offered him.

Dean held the plates high over his head and announced in a loud Lumière impression, “Dinner is served!”

They were eating in the dining room for once, since the breakfast bar only sat two. Dean set one plate down in front of Jack and the other in front of Cas, and then went back for his. He was just settling into his seat when he noticed Castiel holding his hand out to Jack. Jack took it curiously, not seeming to know what the gesture was for and yet accepting it anyway. _Strange kid_ , was Dean’s first impression as he too took Cas’s hand and bowed his head.

As they ate, Jack told them his story, with Castiel filling in some of the holes, since it was obvious he had already heard it, and Dean had to admit that the more he learned, the more the kid was growing on him.

“I ran away from home,” Jack began, “My father he…is not a very nice person.”

“He thought he had family in the city, but they had moved recently and by then it was too late,” Castiel added.

“I was already here,” Jack finished.

“You didn’t think to call ahead?” Dean asked, thinking how stupid it was to plan ahead so poorly.

“I didn’t plan on leaving,” Jack told him, matter-of-factly, “But I had to. I couldn’t…” The boy trailed off, searching for the right words, “I couldn’t stay there any longer,” he finished.

“Jack, did your father…hurt you?” Castiel asked him.

“No,” Jack said. Then he paused, tilted his head and added, “But people say he killed my mother.”

“What!?” Castiel blurted, just as Dean said, “God damn!”

“Jack, we need to tell the police!” Castiel said, “What happened? What did you see?”

“Why the fuck did you run away?” Dean cut in.

Jack shot him a look, but otherwise ignored him.

“Castiel. Dean, please. My mother died when I was born. I am sure they mean it metaphorically,” Jack explained.

“Well, _hell_ , maybe lead with that next time!” Dean snapped at him, heaving a relieved sigh.

“I… _am_ telling you,” Jack replied with his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, yeah, okay Sheldon Jr. I got it,” Dean muttered, rubbing his forehead. Less than an hour with the kid and he was already getting a headache.

“Jack, why did you run away?” Castiel asked again.

Jack met his eyes straight-on.

“My father never wanted a child. He never wanted to raise me. People where I live… _lived_ —everyone knew what happened to my mother. They always treated me like I was…special somehow because of what happened to me. They pitied me, but they were also afraid of me, I think. I don’t know why. It was…lonely. Finally I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get out of there.” He blinked slowly. “You understand. You told me you ran away once too. For similar reasons, unless I am mistaken.”

“Yes,” Castiel replied with a nod, “I left because I felt suffocated, pretending to be someone I was not. I wished to be free.”

“Yes, exactly,” Jack agreed, “The proverbial stretching of one’s wings.” He grew suddenly serious. “I should have waited. I should have made a plan, saved up some money.” He shook his head. “Instead I ran out with a backpack full of whatever I could fit and my dad’s change bucket.” He looked up at them with wide, innocent blue eyes. “There was enough to get me here on a bus and pay for a couple of meals, but…well, that was it. I have forty-seven cents left to my name, so I very much appreciate the meal and a place to stay. I promise to leave first thing in the morning so I don’t cause you any further trouble.”

Castiel shared a look with Dean.

“Jack, what do you plan to do when you leave here?” Castiel asked him.

Jack took a bite of his burger and contemplated that question as he chewed, his brow crinkled in deep folds of thought.

“I suppose I’m not sure yet,” Jack answered once he had swallowed, “I need to look for a job. I’m hoping I can find one right away, because otherwise I will have no means to pay for food or shelter. I will also need to find an apartment at some point…although it may be tricky finding someone who is willing to rent to a minor. Unless I can find someone who deals in fake IDs, in which case—”

“Woah, hey, hang on a minute there, MacGyver,” Dean said, interrupting the kid and holding up his hand, “First of all, you’re staying here until you figure things out, and second, shut the hell up and eat before the food gets cold because these burgers deserve some friggin’ _respect_ , Kapich?”

Jack abruptly snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

Castiel looked at Dean with something akin to reverence in his eyes.

They finished dinner on a high note, talking about their favorite Christmas songs. Dean’s was _Baby It’s Cold Outside_. Cas chose _Winter Wonderland_. Jack had trouble deciding between _Frosty The Snowman_ and _Silver and Gold_. 

Now that he was fed and clean, it was clear Jack was exhausted from however long he’d been on the run. He bade Castiel and Dean good night and gently closed the bedroom door behind him.

Castiel glanced quickly to Dean, who was waiting for him at the door to their bedroom.

“Dean, are you sure—?” he started to ask.

“ _Yes_ , Cas,” Dean told him. He ushered Cas into their room and then closed and locked the door. “We aren’t alone anymore,” he commented, gesturing back to the door, “Guess that means we can’t walk around naked and make loud, angry monkey sex.”

Castiel rolled his eyes a little at that.

“I do not sound like a monkey,” he insisted.

Dean grinned at him cheekily.

“Who said I was talking about you?” he replied, grabbing at Castiel’s sides.

Castiel danced away from his tickling fingers with a laugh and then after a few teasing minutes allowed Dean to catch him and lower him down on their bed.

It was much later—when they were lying in bed side by side and looking up at the dark blue shadow of the ceiling—that Castiel spoke again about Jack.

“Dean, what are we going to do with him?” he asked, “Jack can’t stay here indefinitely, and if he is underage I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for us to house him. If his father comes looking for him then he could accuse us of kidnapping and we could go to jail. And—”

“And you’re just thinking of all this now?” Dean cut in, a touch heavy on the sarcasm.

“I just wanted to help,” Castiel said defensively, sounding hurt, “I looked at Jack and I saw myself and…I just…I wanted…”

“I know, Cas,” Dean said when he didn’t continue. He found Castiel’s hand under the covers and gave it a little squeeze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Odds are no one will come lookin’ for the kid, and if we keep our mouths shut about him then no one has to know about it.” He paused, thinking. “I mean, if it was me, last thing I’d want was to be forced back home. I bet if we tried, he’d just run away again, and chances are next time he won’t be so lucky. Probably our best move is to get him a fake ID so he can get a job and an apartment on his own. He can’t be more than a year or two underage, and he seems smart. He can pass.”

“But it’s illegal!” Castiel blurted, rolling onto his side to face him.

Dean shrugged, an awkward gesture to do while lying down.

“So? So are a lot of things. Doesn’t stop people from doing them. Only difference here is that what we’re doing isn’t _wrong_ , not really. Not where it matters.”

“Shouldn’t we try to convince him to return home to his father?” Castiel pressed. He could barely see the pointed look Dean gave him in the half-dark of the room.

“Would you have gone home?” he asked.

“I was eighteen when I left,” Castiel replied.

“Question still stands,” Dean shot back.

Castiel sighed in resignation. Then he slowly shook his head.

“No,” he answered, still turning his head from side to side, “No, I would have fought tooth and nail to stay away.”

“Bingo,” Dean said, “Same was true for me. Only difference is my dad _let_ me dick around, but close enough. Both of us needed to get away. To get out.”

“To be free,” Castiel said conclusively.

Dean was silent for a long time following that comment. When he did speak again, it was on a different subject.

“I meant to ask how things went with Claire today,” he said.

Castiel made a noise that told Dean he’d almost been asleep but he still rolled over to answer him.

“I asked her to consider a career in music but she doesn’t believe it is a possibility given her situation,” Castiel told him. He sighed. “I wish I knew what to say to convince her not to let go of her dreams.”

“I could say the same of you,” Dean said suddenly. He slipped a hand under his head to prop it up a little higher and then glanced at Cas with a no-nonsense kind of look on his face. “I keep telling you the same exact thing, and you don’t believe me either. Even though all you’d have to do is ask.”

Castiel blinked in surprise following that admission. He propped himself up on his elbow so that he could see Dean’s face better.

“Dean, are you… are you offering to pay for my tuition?” he asked, barely believing the words out of his mouth, “Is that what you’re getting me for Christmas? Because—because I’m sorry but it’s too much and I can’t accept—”

“Cas, shut the hell up a minute and just listen, okay?” Dean interrupted, shifting his position so that he was facing Castiel directly, “ _Yes_ , I am offering to pay for you to go to school. _No_ , it is not your Christmas present. That’s something else, but that’s not important right now. What I was tryin’ to say is that you’re expecting Claire to do something you refuse to do. So maybe think about that the next time you talk to her.”

Castiel merely blinked at Dean in shock, speechless in the moment.

“You…ahh…make a number of valid points,” Castiel admitted, looking down at the bed sheets as he fidgeted with them.

Dean rolled over onto his back with a grunt and a sleepy, “You’re damn right, I do.”

It was the last thing he said to Castiel that night, for he was asleep in a matter of minutes. It took Castiel much longer to follow him into the world of dreams. He was kept awake thinking about everything Dean had said.

It was early morning by the time he finally fell asleep.

* * *

Castiel awoke late to coffee waiting for him in the kitchen and a note from Dean on the counter reading, _‘Cas, go get Jack some clothes,’_ along with a sleek black credit card...with _his name_ on it _._ Castiel glanced it over only briefly before reading the rest of the message. _‘Was gonna give this to you at Christmas, but you need it now so… Merry Christmas in advance and all that. P.S. This isn’t the big expensive gift either, but the card does have a 100K limit on it so go nuts! Love you, xoxo Dean.’_

Castiel let out an exasperated sigh and a grumble, thinking again about the coat and worrying about his own idea for Dean’s gift and whether or not it would be enough. Then he heard a shuffle behind him and turned around to find Jack looking at him with an open question on his face.

“Castiel? Good morning,” he greeted, “Is everything well? Is there breakfast?”

“Jack. Good morning. Everything is fine. And yes, there is breakfast. What would you like? Eggs? Pancakes? Waffles?” Castiel slipped the note into his pocket along with the card so that Jack wouldn’t see it as he continued. “Dean has been teaching me how to cook omelets, however they still are not quite ‘up to par’ so I would not recommend that option. Oh. And there’s coffee if you want it. Do you drink coffee?” Castiel asked, squinting at Jack.

Jack just grinned back at him, not at all fazed by his nervous rambling but instead seeming delighted by his efforts. “Orange juice, please, if you have it,” he said, “And eggs are fine. Toast too, if there’s bread.”

“Yes, we have both.” Castiel moved to the fridge and looked back at Jack over his shoulder. “If Dean was here he would talk you into waffles,” he said conversationally, fishing out the orange juice and a glass for Jack and then returning for the half-carton of eggs. He smiled to himself as he kneed the door closed and hummed on his way over to the counter.

“You love him very much,” Jack noted, watching him.

Castiel looked up from what he was doing and nearly dropped the egg in his fingers.

“I—what?” he blurted.

“Dean. Your boyfriend. You must love him a lot,” Jack repeated.

Castiel wagged his lips for a moment, speechless. Now he knew how Dean felt when he was being overly literal about things.

“Thank you, Jack,” he said after regaining his wits, “It’s as you say, I love him very much.”

Jack smiled and reached for the OJ and glass Castiel had set down on the counter for him.

“One day I want to find someone like that too,” he declared.

Castiel smiled back at him, then looked back to the eggs he was preparing. The smile didn’t fade, however, in the entire time he was cooking them breakfast.

They headed out after to grab Jack a small wardrobe of things. As they shopped and Jack disappeared for large chunks of time to try things on in the changing room, and Castiel sat outside waiting for him, he thought about what they were going to do with Jack.

And then he thought about his apartment.

And his job at The Plaza.

And Dean.

And School.

And Claire.

By the time they were finished, Castiel had a pretty good idea of what to do about all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> K, show of hands--how many people thought Jack was gonna be a duck based from the tags?? XD
> 
> SO I didn't think I had a chapter to post this week. Jack kinda decided last minute that he wanted to be a part of this and I gotta say I was nervous adding him in when I just added Claire in and have a whole plot planned for her too... but as always I give my characters what they want. The chapter ended up being longer than expected as a result and I decided to put Castiel's Christmas concert to next chapter. 
> 
> I implied before that Crowley is the doorman to Dean's apartment building, but this chapter I made it official. We also got to see a _teeeensy_ bit of Charlie/Jo. Bit of a teaser but also to let y'all know I haven't forgotten them. There will be actual plot coming soon! (And Gabriel. I haven't forgotten him either. Saving the best for last, so they say.) 
> 
> Sam and Jess show up next chapter for Christmas, and Dean and Cas exchange gifts! And...what? Jack also gets a gift?? Can anyone guess who's gonna get what? I may have dropped some subtle hints. ;)
> 
> I passed 200K words/500 pages this week!! WHOOHOOO!!! I'm pretty fuckin' stoked about that. :Dv
> 
> Fun trivia: the first Cop/Christmas reference in the movie _Die Hard_ is 1:36 seconds in. The song Cas and Claire sing is Mcfly's _One For The Radio_. Also the book Dean and Cas are reading now is _K2, The Savage Mountain_.
> 
> I'm hoping to post the Christmas chapter on Christmas, but that may be a little difficult since I'll be spending it with family. If anything it should be up by Saturday. 
> 
> Happy Holidays, everyone! Please comment and let me know what you think! :3


	21. Giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time in the city--a time of giving, of coming together, and of making decisions for the New Year.

* * *

Between the holiday gift swap at the office and preparing the financials for the end of the quarter _and_ having to make a number of last minute decisions on a couple different real estate deals that day, Dean actually forgot there was a kid staying with them by the time he got home. He opened the door to the apartment that evening to the smell of something sweet and faintly spicy.

Dean shucked his shoes and coat at the door and took long, sweeping strides to the kitchen where the heavenly smell was coming from. Cas and Jack were both at the oven, hunched over shoulder to shoulder as they peered into the filmy yellow glow coming from the stove’s viewing window to watch their Christmasy creation.

Dean’s brain did an unpleasant lurch when he saw Jack and remembered everything in an instant.

_‘That’s right, the kid is staying with us,’_ he thought to himself.

He was already feeling a little off balance after the long day and the dawning realization that Cas was baking cookies with the _kid_ , not because he’d wanted to surprise Dean with homemade baked goods hit him a little unexpectedly. Not that Dean needed Cas to do that kind of thing, he had just automatically assumed that was the case when he walked through the door because it was usually always just the two of them and plus Cas was just generally awesome like that. But seeing him and Jack together as they were, still unaware that he was even in the room, Dean felt something unpleasant stir in his gut.

“What’cha guys doing?” he said, shoving down the feeling. Besides, it wasn’t like it was the _kid’s_ fault. Or Cas’s, for that matter. Dean had agreed to help Jack too, after all.

Castiel turned around with a bright smile on his face, and it was an expression of a caliber Dean hadn’t seen before. The feeling in his gut twisted and flopped over.

“ _Dean!_ ” Cas greeted enthusiastically, moving toward him to give him a hello kiss/hug combo. He melted against Dean as soon as his arms were around his neck, and something about that calmed Dean down a little. “We are making gingerbread cookies,” Castiel told him when he pulled away. Dean opened his mouth to ask when they would be ready for consumption but Cas beat him to it. “They just went in the oven.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. He leaned in to kiss Cas again, because he wanted to but also to feel the reassurance of his place in Dean’s life. Dean’s eyes slid over to Jack when he pulled back. “Did you guys have fun today?”

“Yes, very much so,” Castiel replied, “Thank you for the card, by the way. It was…ah…very generous of you.”

He blushed a little, and his sudden shyness brought a lopsided smile to Dean’s face.

“Hey, it’s one of the perks of dating a Winchester,” he said, “I would have set you up ages ago if I thought there was a snowball’s chance you would actually accept it.”

Cas’s blush deepened at that sentiment.

“Yes, well, you ah…you know me very well,” he replied in a murmur.

“Not as well as I thought I did,” Dean remarked, glancing over to Jack, who was watching them from where he was leaned up against the counter next to the stove. Castiel’s brow furrowed slightly in concern, and Dean realized after the fact how that must have sounded. He gave Cas a shrug and thought up a quick save. “I didn’t know you could bake.”

“My mother taught me,” Castiel said, looking up into Dean’s bright green eyes, “Baking with her is among some of my fondest memories of being a child. We would make gingerbread cookies every year at Christmas and then the whole family would decorate them. I thought Jack might enjoy the activity, and I know how much you like anything sweet.”

Dean smiled at that.

“You’re damn right I do,” he said with an edge of flirtation.

Castiel smiled back, that same face-wide, beam-me-up-Scotty grin he had on earlier. He looked happy, Dean decided. _Really happy_ , and something about that sat in his stomach a little sour.

“Well, I’ll leave you guys to it. I’m gonna go take a shower,” he said, extracting himself from Castiel’s embrace. He must have pulled back a touch too eagerly, because the concern from before was suddenly back in Castiel’s eyes, pinching the skin between his eyebrows. Dean dropped a light kiss on his lips in the hopes that would soothe it away and distracted him with, “You got anything planned for _actual_ dinner, or are we just having cookies?”

“We were thinking pizza,” Castiel told him, the concern melting back into a faint smile, “As long as you are okay with that. I don’t mind what we have.”

“I don’t have a preference either,” Jack added in.

“Pizza sounds good to me,” Dean replied.

They spent a few minutes discussing what kind to get, and then Dean retreated from the kitchen to call in the order. Usually he would have hung out with Cas, maybe convinced him to join him for a shower, but with the kid in there he felt like he’d be interrupting something so he decided against it. He stood under the hot water for a long time, attempting to wash away whatever he was feeling. It didn’t exactly work. He was just drying his hair when Cas called down the hall that the pizza had arrived.

Dean was quiet during dinner, preferring to listen rather than talk for once.

“Castiel took me shopping,” Jack was saying animatedly, “But you already knew that. We also talked about some possible employment options. And then we came back here to bake cookies.”

“I believe both of us now understand the expression ‘shop until you drop,’” Castiel said.

Jack nodded his agreement and then his face got very serious.

“Thank you for what you are doing to help me,” Jack said, looking between them both.

Dean stuttered out, “’S nothing,” while Cas beamed at the kid and said, “Jack, you don’t have to thank us every fifteen minutes.”

“I know that,” Jack said quickly, “But I’m grateful. And this is only the second time I’ve said it to Dean.” He turned fully to Dean now, and it was eerie how similar Jack’s intensely focused gaze was to Castiel’s, almost as if they were…related.

Dean’s thoughts ground to a halt. A noise like laundry swishing around in the washing machine pressed over his eardrums so that he read more than heard Jack’s sincere, “Thank you, Dean.” He didn’t reply right away, long enough where the pinch between Cas’s eyebrows came back and Dean had to rush to answer so that he wouldn’t suspect anything was up.

“Cas is right, kid, you don’t need to keep sayin’ that,” Dean said, “We’re helping out cuz we want to.”

“We’re very happy you’re here, Jack,” Castiel said.

He was facing Jack when he said it, so he missed the slight downward turn of Dean’s lips. It was gone by the time he looked back at Dean, replaced by a gracious—albeit staged—smile.

The two had plans to decorate cookies after dinner, and Cas wanted him to join, but Dean made up some excuse about the quarterly figures and retreated to his office on the premise that he was going to get a leg up on some of his workload for tomorrow. In truth what he was doing was sitting in his swivel chair swinging back and forth with his head hung back to stare at the ceiling while he nursed a generous glass of whiskey.

It wasn’t even a big deal, but something about the way Castiel had spoken for him regarding the kid…saying _us_ and _we_ when referring to them, but then also using _we_ when referring to his day with Jack really got under his skin. The whiskey, sadly, wasn’t altogether doing anything to help.

He heard a soft knock at the door and shot up in his chair, hastily repositioning himself so that he seemed busily hunched over the reports he had spread out across his desk when he answered, “Come in,” and Castiel opened the door.

“Dean…” Castiel started to say. He hesitated in saying more, and instead shifted from one foot to the other. Then he took a breath and decided to say what he’d planned on saying from the start. “Dean, is there something…bothering you?” he asked.

Dean purposefully kept his face blank but inside he was wincing. He felt the urge to run a hand over his mouth like he did when he was nervous. His hand twitched, but he clenched it into a fist and resisted the comforting gesture because Cas knew him well enough to know that if he _did_ , then it meant something was definitely up, and Dean wasn’t sure he wanted Cas to know what was going on in his head at the moment.

“I’m fine,” he said casually instead, “You guys done with the cookies?”

Castiel shook his head.

“We are taking a break.”

Castiel stepped into the room only far enough to close the door quietly behind him, standing directly in front of it with his back pressed to the wood and his hands behind his back as though he were trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. Which not only bothered Dean, but made him want to get up and pull Cas into his arms just for the sake of feeling the other man. He fought back a frown and shifted in his chair.

“Dean, there _is_ something on your mind. I can tell,” Castiel said. He took a step further into the room, hesitant at first but then he was right up next to Dean’s chair and _there_ was the comforting weight of his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean relaxed by an inch, but the tension returned almost immediately when Cas said, “Is this to do with Jack? I thought… You said you were okay with him staying here.”

“I am,” Dean said quickly. He reached up to grasp Cas’s hand, mostly for the reassurance of the gesture—and he couldn’t remember a time when his need to touch Castiel in _any_ way was so potent. “I just…guess I’m not used to it. Guess I wasn’t expecting…I don’t know.” He shook his head and dropped Castiel’s hand, opting instead to fiddle with his glass of whiskey.

Castiel very pointedly moved it beyond his reach and turned Dean’s swivel chair so that it was facing him directly.

“Dean, what is it?” Castiel asked quietly, “If you don’t want Jack here I can—I can ask him to leave.” He seemed suddenly miserable at the mere mention of it.

“That’s not it,” Dean rushed to say, “No one’s kicking anyone out. I was just feeling a little…left out, that’s all. I uh…you guys obviously get along well…”

Dean trailed off and looked down at his lap. With his drink out of reach his only option was to fiddle with the edge of his shirt.

Castiel knelt down before him and placed a hand on his knee.

“Dean, what is it really?” he asked.

Dean took a deep breath and looked up at him.

“Don’t freak out,” he said, “Cuz I’m not sure there’s anything to this but… I dunno, seeing you with the kid I just get the feeling like… like you’ve got this deep connection with him and it only took...what? Less than a day? And you’ve been spending all this time at the group home with Claire…” Dean took another deep breath and blurted the rest out like he was playing Whack-A-Mole. “I know we never talked about it but I guess I just assumed you didn’t want kids.”

Castiel stiffened at that. He blinked slowly, surprised.

“ _That’s_ what this is about?” he asked, sounding relieved. Dean watched as the tension drained out of his shoulders. “Dean, I don’t think Jack _or_ Claire can accurately represent what it would be like to have children.”

“Well, you’d obviously be great at it,” Dean muttered. He was back to staring down at his lap again, fidgeting with his shirt and generally feeling shitty.

Castiel’s hand came up to rest over his, putting an end to his fidgeting so that Dean had no choice but to look up at him.

“So would you.”

To which Dean scoffed and looked away with a bit of an eyeroll.

“I mean it,” Castiel said sternly, demanding his full attention. Dean looked back at him uneasily, his stomach doing somersaults and the pizza making a not-so-nice return up his esophagus. “But I am assuming you are upset not because you would make a good father but because…you do not wish to be one. Am I correct?”

Dean shrugged, his face falling.

“Never really considered it, I guess,” he mumbled, “But no, I don’t think I’ve ever said to myself, hey it’d be nice to have a kid, raise a family someday. I guess I never really envisioned that kind of apple-pie, white-picket-fence life for myself, you know? I always just assumed Sammy would have kids and I’d get to spoil them, and I like the idea of _that_ , but having a couple rugrats of my own running around?” He shrugged again. “’S not really something I want for myself, that’s all.”

Castiel nodded like he did know, even though Dean was pretty sure it was done merely to placate him. But then Cas surprised him by saying, “Dean, believe it or not I am of the same mindset as you. I am not sure I want children.”

“Really?” Dean blurted, “But you and the kid—”

“Jack is seventeen. He is practically an adult. In many cultures he would be old enough to marry and start a family.”

“Come on, you know what I mean,” Dean said, sounding a little exasperated by Castiel’s obtuse answer. He turned his hand over in his lap—the one Castiel’s was covering—so that he could grasp it in his. He took a breath and tried for a smile, but it fell a little flat. “I thought…” He trailed off, ashamed to admit it.

“You assumed that because I am so good with Jack, that it meant I want kids, and since you don’t you thought this was the end for us,” Castiel summed up.

“I know it sounds stupid,” Dean blurted. He took a breath, but it got trapped by a sudden and painful pressure in his chest.

Castiel shook his head.

“I wouldn’t say this situation accurately represents your intellect,” he said, in that dry, sarcastic way that he knew Dean found both irritating and secretly endearing. It was said with a smirk and meant as a joke. Dean smiled at the attempt to lighten the mood and squeezed Cas’s hand a little tighter.

“Yeah, well, now I _feel_ stupid,” he mumbled, attempting to joke himself, but it ended up sounding like anything but that so he took a breath and continued honestly. “I thought we’d finally hit our wall, you know? Guess it kinda freaked me out. I don’t want to find that red flag deal breaker with you, Cas, okay? I don’t think I could handle it at this point, and now I’m freaking out because we should’ve talked about all this shit way back in the beginning. Not now. Not when I—I thought we had a solid thing here.”

“We do,” Castiel assured him.

“Yeah, but…and don’t take this the wrong way,” Dean said, holding up a hand, “I was under the impression that the kid would stay here for a few days, maybe until after the holidays or until he finds a job and a place of his own but…it’s been less than a _day_ and it already feels like he’s here for good. And I don’t think I’m ready for that.” Dean licked his lips and rushed to continue. “I don’t mean I want him out of here. I just wasn’t expecting things to feel so…permanent.”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Castiel replied. He tilted his head to the side and considered Dean’s words carefully. “I don’t think staying with us is what Jack ultimately needs. He ran away to find himself. He won’t be able to do that if we are there acting as his surrogate family.” Castiel paused and then added, “And I do not think it would be a good idea for us to take him in like that either. What we have is still too new.”

“Yeah,” Dean said in an outbreath of relief, “Exactly. I mean, if we can figure out a way to help him get a start…?”

“I think that would be best for all parties involved,” Castiel agreed.

He rose to his feet, Dean’s hand coming with him. He gave a light tug and Dean followed him on a delay, eyes locked with Cas’s as he got to his feet so that it began with him looking up at the man and ended with him looking the one-inch down that always seemed so much further.

Castiel framed his face in his hands and placed a gentle kiss at his lips.

“Dean, I love you,” he said, “And I would choose you over anything. Over any _one_. But I also believe that a true relationship needn’t require choosing one or the other. I believe there is always a better, third option where all involved can find contentment.”

“You’re like a walking self-help book sometimes, you know that?” Dean teased him lightly.

Castiel smiled softly at him.

“There is something I have been considering…” he said. He paused as something occurred to him. “Wait here. I’ll only be a minute.”

He kissed Dean once more before slipping out of his arms and out of the room. Dean waited impatiently for his return. It only took a minute, like Cas promised, but for some reason it felt like a lot longer than that. Then Castiel was suddenly there in the doorway again, closing it gently behind him. There was a white envelope in his hand.

“I planned on giving this to you at Christmas,” he said, seeming a little embarrassed. “But then things…changed. It is not a gift per say, but I thought it would be more meaningful if I were to present it as such.”

He handed the envelope to Dean, who took it from him with a curious quirk of the eyebrow before tearing into it and shaking out the contents. Inside was a single piece of paper. There was a logo of some kind in the upper left corner for a property management company. Dean read the title across the top of the page.

_‘Notice of Non-Renewal of Lease.’_

“Cas, what…?” Dean started to say. He looked at Cas, his eyes widening as it hit him. “You—you’re giving up the apartment?” he stuttered in disbelief.

Castiel smiled and nodded, lowering his eyes shyly.

“I decided it was time,” he said, “Time to let go of the things that are holding me back. I wanted…” His eyes snapped up to lock on with Dean’s. “I wished to start the New Year over fresh. With you. In our _home_.”

“Cas, I—” Dean broke off, his eyes tingling with the onset of tears. His voice when he next spoke was thick with emotion. “I don’t know what to say…”

“I have since rescinded my notice,” Castiel continued, “I thought I could let Jack have the apartment. That way he has his own space and we can have ours.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’s…” Dean trailed off, his emotions boiling up and threatening to spill over so instead he cleared his throat and said, “Cas, this is great and all but that apartment is kinda a piece of shit—no offense. I mean, we can set him up with better digs than that.”

Castiel shook his head.

“That isn’t the point,” he said, “I don’t mean to hand him everything on a silver platter. Not that there is anything wrong with that,” he added quickly, for Dean’s sake, “But I remember how good it felt to be in a space that was truly mine for the first time, and—Dean, there is something profound in learning you are able to make it on your own, and I think you can understand that. I think Jack needs to understand it as well, and if we were to provide everything for him then he would miss out on the opportunity to grow.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “I get that. So…what, he takes over your apartment and…we pay for it until he gets a job?”

“Yes,” Castiel affirmed, smiling faintly at Dean’s use of _we_. It made the next thing he was about to say a lot easier. He hesitated only briefly before continuing. “I have also been considering…giving Uriel my notice.”

Dean froze, his eyes going wide.

“What?” he blurted.

“I still need to speak with Marlene to see if she would be open to it,” Castiel rushed to explain, “I would prefer to be hired on permanently but since I am the one who offered to volunteer in the first place, there is a strong possibility that there just isn’t room in the budget to allow for a full-time music teacher. In which case…”

Castiel trailed off and looked down at his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, and it took Dean a couple extra seconds for it to dawn on him that Cas was talking about trying to get a job at the group home. An electric jolt went through him.

“I would need to know you are okay with supporting me financially,” Castiel continued, “And Jack, for the time being. I had planned on paying the rent myself as I have been doing but if I quit my job then I would need…reassurance that you will not grow to resent me for not contributing.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean said, grinning stupidly at Cas, “You know I want you doing something with music. I never thought you’d actually go for it. I thought for sure I was gonna have to threaten you with a tuning fork or some bull before you took me seriously.”

“I said I would consider it,” Castiel told him. He leaned in to Dean and lowered his voice. “And I said I would do better at trusting you.”

Dean cradled Castiel’s face in his hands and kissed him thoroughly.

“I love you,” he breathed, “And I want you to be happy. Whatever you want to do I’m with you one hundred percent. You know that, right?”

Castiel hummed and leaned into his touch.

“I’ll admit I knew about the first part…” Castiel said, leaving the sentence hanging in the air as an unasked question.

“You know I’ll take care of you,” Dean said, pulling Cas in tightly against his chest, “And the kid. Hell, at this point we should just start a charity.” He grinned down at the man in his arms. “Cas and his lost kids,” he teased.

Castiel rolled his eyes a little at that but he also blushed so Dean knew the sentiment hit where he wanted it to.

“This is…highly out of character for me,” Castiel said a moment later, sounding uneasy.

And Dean could see it on his face—the weight of deciding to uproot his entire life—his entire life’s _plan_ besides—a bright green planting, bursting with the desire to grow into the Redwood he was always meant to be—and place the entire fragile thing in Dean’s hands. He wasn’t conditioned for that level of trust, not when he had been burned so badly before.

Dean brought his hands up to cradle Castiel’s face once more. Soupy blue eyes looked up at him, soft and sweet like cookie dough batter.

“I got you, Cas,” he said softly, “And hey, even if this thing we’ve got doesn’t work out—for whatever reason or…not that it will, I’m just sayin’ if it _did_ —I wouldn’t just kick you out onto the streets. I care about you, Cas. That’s not gonna stop if we suddenly decide this isn’t working. I’d still want to be friends. _Something_. But even if I end up hating you I’m _still_ gonna take care of you. I’m still gonna help you.”

Tears pooled in Castiel’s eyes. He shut them and nodded and they spilled out over his cheeks. Dean kissed him before he could think his way into not believing him.

Castiel’s mouth yielded open, soft and trusting. And it wasn’t even like when Dean got him so turned on he turned to absolute putty in his arms, it was more like brushing his hand through a field of wild grass and having the stalks bend under his touch.

The tears were still falling down Castiel’s face when Dean pulled away. Surprisingly, he felt calm. Normally he would be freaking the fuck out, trying to _fix_ whatever it was so that he could get the tears to stop, but this was different. Castiel was crying out of relief—in the act of letting go. It was a cathartic process, and Dean didn’t feel uncomfortable with it, just incredibly grateful that he had the privilege of witnessing it happen.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel whispered. It was a true whisper this time, perhaps the first time Dean had heard his voice completely without his signature gravel.

“You don’t need to keep thanking me, you know,” Dean said fondly, repeating what Cas had told Jack at dinner.

A laugh sputtered out of Castiel and he smiled, pressing his lips to Dean’s again.

“I love you,” he reconsidered.

“Love you too, Ducky,” Dean told him.

They wandered out to the kitchen after Castiel cleaned up a bit and a few more minutes of intimacy to find Jack sitting at the breakfast bar, slouched over in his chair. He straightened when he saw the two of them coming down the hall, Dean with his hand in the small of Castiel’s back and Cas with his eyes still obviously red from crying.

“Is everything alright?” Jack asked in a small voice.

Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Everything is fine, Jack,” Castiel told him. He turned back to Dean and smiled. “Things are _wonderful,_ in fact.”

Jack seemed reassured by the obvious affection in his voice and in the way Dean smiled back at him. Dean caught him staring when they pulled back from a brief kiss and raised his eyebrows at the kid in question.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never experienced a relationship like yours before.” At the way Dean’s eyebrows lowered dangerously, Jack suddenly realized how that sounded. He held up his hands in defense. “I don’t mean because you are both men. I meant because you are happy. And affectionate. I’ve never seen another couple who kissed so much, except maybe some of the kids on my old school bus, but I was told by one of the girls—Lily was her name—that it was just to practice for the real thing.”

Dean felt his lips quirk up at the kid’s rambling explanation. Instantly he saw what Castiel must have seen when they had met in the park—a bright young man who cared deeply about everyone around him and who saw the world in such a complex matrix of layers that it was as though he were viewing the entirety of creation in the fractional dilation of his pupils. Dean had to admit he was impressed, and instantly he felt a little sad that Jack’s father had clearly never been able to see it.

“You ready to finish up those cookies?” Dean asked him. His eyes darted to Cas, since the question was also directed at him.

At Jack’s immediate smile and eager nod, Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder and they all got to it.

Hours later, covered in frosting and flour and smelling of confectionery sugar and cloves, Dean and Cas collapsed into bed with a contented sigh.

Christmas, it felt, was right around the corner.

* * *

Things with a teenager in the house were…illuminating to say the least. Jack was respectful and polite most of the time, but he had a tendency to anger quickly in certain situations and on a couple occasions actually snapped at Castiel. Both times Jack got a faraway, terrified look in his eyes and apologized immediately. Both times Castiel told him it was okay, but that he should watch his temper and if he got angry should take three long breaths or try counting to ten before answering.

Castiel saw it the next time he got angry, and he also watched as Jack took his advice, taking a deep breath and counting in his head as he held it. He then let it out with a thoughtful nod.

“I see. I get angry whenever I feel trapped and powerless,” Jack said. He looked up at Cas. “I’m sorry. You’re helping me, and I reacted like you were my father.”

“It’s quite alright, Jack,” Castiel reassured him, “Believe me, I understand. I’m impressed you were able to work that out on your own.”

Jack nodded again.

“The breathing allowed me the space to think and ask myself… _why_ I was angry,” the boy replied, “And that is the answer that came to me.”

“There are not many who can be as objective with their emotions as you can,” Castiel told him, “It shows great strength of character.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully.

“Then…you also have strong character,” he said, “And Dean. For…giving me a chance— for seeing through my anger and not judging me for it. And for helping me through a difficult time. Thank you, Castiel. I wish I could do something for you both in return. Christmas is next week and I can’t even buy a pack of gum.”

“I appreciate the thought, Jack,” Castiel replied, deeply moved by the boy’s words, “And believe me when I say that meeting _you_ , Jack—getting to know you? That is the best gift you could have given me.”

“And Dean?” Jack asked, tilting his head. The boy was still a little unsure about the man’s sincerity.

Castiel leaned in to him as if to tell him a secret. Jack leaned in as well.

“Dean really wants to make you waffles,” Castiel told him with a wink.

“Why…does he want to make me waffles?” Jack asked.

Castiel shrugged, pretending not to know.

“Perhaps you should ask him and find out,” he replied.

Which is how it came to be that Saturday morning Jack joined them in the kitchen where Cas and Dean were cozied up at the breakfast bar sipping their morning jo’ and asked, “Dean, will you make me waffles for breakfast?”

Dean’s mug froze halfway to his lips. He set it down hard enough to slosh coffee over the rim.

“ _Hell_ yes I’ll make you waffles!” Dean said emphatically. He nudged Cas’s arm. “ _Waffles_ , Cas!” Dean said with excitement. Castiel rolled his eyes, having expected this.

“You are worse than a two-year-old,” he commented dryly, glancing sideways at his boyfriend.

“You never let me make waffles,” Dean pouted at him.

“They’re fattening,” Castiel told him, giving him _a look_.

“They’re _awesome_ and anyway we can always wo—” Dean suddenly remembered there was a teenager in the room and broke off. “Uhh…heh. We can um…you know, work out, uhh…harder afterward. And um...l-longer.” He couldn’t help it. He laughed toward the end.

“Dean, please quit alluding to our sex life and make the goddamn waffles!” Castiel snapped at him. He shot Dean a sour look of irritation.

Dean just grinned and pecked him on the cheek. Castiel turned and gave him another look, this one still squinty but much more adoring than the last. He couldn’t help but smile as Dean swooped in for another kiss, this time on the lips.

Jack looked between them curiously as they moved apart.

“You are a very odd couple,” he said.

Dean whistled _Happy Holidays_ while he cooked. Before long there was a sizeable stack of waffles. He brought these into the dining room, where Jack and Cas had set out three places, and set the warmed platter in the center of the table along with a large jug of maple syrup from their trip upstate.

“Gentlemen and gentlemen, I give you— _Christmas Waffles_ ,” Dean announced.

“What makes them Christmas?” Jack asked eagerly.

“I’m glad you asked that, Jack,” Dean said, looking very proud of himself, “First of all, there’s eggnog in ‘em.” He paused for dramatic effect and lifted his finger, leaning in over the table. “And secondly, there are crushed up candy canes in there too.”

“Awesome!” Jack blurted out—in a very _Dean_ way that had him grinning like a fool—and which effectively covered up the quiet _“Ew,”_ that Castiel let slip accidentally.

“And _finally_ ,” Dean said, glancing at Cas to let him know _he’d heard that, thank you very much,_ “I sprinkled them with nutmeg and powdered sugar. _Boom!_ ”

“It’s sure to be a taste explosion!” Jack said emphatically. He transferred a couple waffles from the stack to his plate.

Dean glanced over to Cas again.

“I made you a couple boring normal waffles,” he said.

Castiel dropped a light kiss on his lips.

“This is why I love you,” he murmured.

* * *

The week leading up to Christmas passed quickly. Castiel had a conversation with his landlord about his apartment and a conversation with Uriel about Jack. He spent a good chunk of the week texting with Sam back and forth about Dean’s gift and getting that all set to go. He had choir practice almost every night the week leading up to the big concert Christmas Eve, and on those nights Dean would hole up in the storage room steadily putting Castiel’s gift together. Jack sometimes went with Castiel to listen to him sing, and other times stayed home with Dean and helped him with his secret “Casstmas project,” as Dean called it. Which he then giggled after he said it. Every time.

So Jack knew why when Castiel mentioned needing a new space to practice his singing now that Jack was staying in the spare bedroom that Dean wasn’t just being a dick.

They had been arguing for a number of minutes at this point, with Castiel attempting to get Dean to clear out the storage room and Dean outright refusing, saying he just didn’t have the time before the holidays.

“I don’t need you to move much,” Castiel was saying—yet another variation of what he’d been saying since the start of the argument, “I just need a few square feet for my music stand—that is all.”

“And I said no, Cas. Besides, I’ve got…uh…presents and stuff in that room right now,” Dean said, “So I’m sorry, but that room stays _off limits_ until Christmas,” Dean said.

“Dean, I have no intentions of _snooping_ around for whatever it is you have gotten me as a gift,” Castiel told him in exasperation, rolling his eyes.

Dean shook his head.

“I know you don’t, Cas,” he said, “That’s not what this is about.”

“If this is about Jack, _Dean_ —” Castiel began. Dean held up his hand.

“It’s not about Jack,” he said, “Seriously, when are you gonna start believing me when I say I like having the kid here?”

Castiel furrowed his brow and pressed his lips together in frustration.

“Then what _is_ it about?” he asked.

Dean leaned into Cas as though to let him in on a secret. 

“Remember when I said I was getting you a stupidly expensive present?” Dean asked him. At Castiel’s slow nod, he continued. “Well, turns out it doesn’t wrap so well. So. That door stays locked until Christmas morning. Sorry, but you’ll have to find somewhere else to hole up.”

Castiel’s annoyance quickly drained into confusion.

“The…what?” he blurted.

Dean just straightened, grinned coquettishly at him, and walked away.

“Room’s off limits!” he called back over his shoulder, leaving behind a very flabbergasted Castiel.

Castiel turned to look at Jack, an unasked question in his eyes. Jack just smiled at him and shrugged, pretending not to know anything about it.

* * *

Sam and Jess arrived in the city late Christmas Eve day, with just enough time to check into their hotel (they were staying at The Plaza along with John and Ellen, the latter of whom had also flown in earlier that day) and grab a quick dinner before meeting Dean and Cas at St. Patrick’s for Cas’s big Christmas Concert. The concert didn’t start until nine, but Castiel needed to get there ahead of time to warm up and rehearse one more time beforehand.

Dean sat squirming in the pews with Jack for over an hour before Sam and Jess showed up, and by then it was nearly time for the show to start. Dean shot up his hand and waved them over to the front where they were sitting. Dean had a video camera in his lap, which Sam nodded to when he slid in next to his brother after their habitual bro-hug.

“Hey, let me have that. You know I’m the better camera man,” Sam said.

Dean handed it over happily with a light jab of _“Nerd,”_ at Sam, who snorted at the weak insult.

“I happen to find nerds super sexy,” Jess said, leaning in to Dean.

Dean grinned at her.

“Yeah, so do I,” he said with a wink. Dean looked over to Jack, who was watching the exchange quietly. The boy seemed a little nervous.

“Sam, Jess, this is Jack,” Dean introduced, gesturing to the kid.

Jack held up his hand in a little wave and smiled nervously.

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you,” Jack said.

“Same here,” Sam said quickly. He sucked in a breath. “Hey Dean,” he said, “Since when did you and Cas have a kid?”

Jessica let out a bark of laughter and then covered her mouth when she realized how loud it had been.

“Sam, don’t be a moron,” Dean said, “We’re just giving the kid a place to crash while he looks for a job. That’s all it is.”

“Dean and Castiel have been very generous,” Jack chimed in, “You’re Dean’s brother, right? And Jessica, you’re like a sister to Dean. They both talk of you fondly.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Sam said, just as Jess asked him, “What kind of a job are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure yet. Something that pays reasonably well and is willing to take on someone who is… inexperienced. Castiel I think had a couple of ideas.”

“How old are you, Jack?” Sam asked. He shot his brother _a look_.

“I’m eighteen,” Jack told him.

“What year were you born?”

Jack answered him smoothly. He and Dean had been over this, and Dean had to say he was impressed with the kid’s finesse under pressure.

Sam nodded, still unconvinced.

“Uh huh. You realize you’re contributing to the delinquency of a minor, right, Dean?” Sam said, “Which you could go to jail for?”

“What, by helping him find a job?” Dean retorted, rolling his eyes. He shot Sam a severe look. “You had better keep your big fat salad mouth shut, Sammy.”

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes.

“I’m not going to tattle on you to the cops, _Dean_ ,” he replied, pulling one of his signature bitch faces, “Just figured you’d want to know how screwed you’re gonna be if anyone finds out about this.”

“They’re not gonna find out,” Dean said.

John, Ellen, and Jo showed up then, and that was the end of _that_ conversation.

This time when Dean introduced Jack, he added in a part about Jack being Castiel’s nephew. He figured what with their striking blue eyes, their strangely formal way of speaking and the lightning-fast bond the two had formed in the past week that it wasn’t all that unbelievable. He caught Sam glaring at him out of the corner of his eye regardless.

It seemed to work. If his dad had any opinions about them helping out Jack, he kept it to himself. Dean caught Charlie’s red hair out of his peripheral then and waved her over. She scooted in beside Jo and waved a quick hello before turning to the blonde with a bright and rather flirtatious greeting. Dean introduced Jack to her quickly just as the lights dimmed to signal that the show was about to begin.

The choir entered from stage right, walking with purpose to their positions on it and putting any more thought of Jack from Dean’s mind—for the moment at least. Dean scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces for the one he wanted, and finally in the third row spotted a frock of neatly combed-back, mousy-brown hair and a pair of bright, gem-like blue eyes. He nudged Jack and Sam, pointing at Cas and saying in a gleefully loud whisper, “ _There he is!_ ”

The crowd hushed and the lights changed again to accentuate the spotlight on the choir members in center stage.

They started out with _Silent Night_ , then _Away In a Manger_ , _We Wish You A Merry Christmas_ , and others. The list went on. At one point they did _Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer_. At another they did _Frosty The Snowman_. Jack was delighted to hear that one, but Dean was holding out for what he knew was going to be his favorite hands down—Castiel’s solo.

The music faded and reopened. The lights dimmed and brightened again in the exact center of the stage, a soft white-blue. Castiel stepped up to the mic and opened his mouth to sing.

“ _Come they told me,  
Pa rum pum pum pum._

_A new born king to see,  
Pa rum pum pum pum_.”

It was almost comical how well suited to the song Castiel’s voice was, with his gravelly _rum pum pums_ and rich baritone. Dean had heard him sing it dozens of times in the past couple weeks, but he was still blown away. There was something different in the way Castiel sang when he practiced as opposed to when he performed. Hearing him sing now—in front of a crowd of people—it was like watching Castiel come to life.

Dean was on his feet cheering his lungs out when he finished, arms in the air, whistling with two fingers—the _works_. He even blew kisses. And he didn’t feel weird about it at all, not even with Sam and his Dad standing right there in the same row. They were on their feet and clapping too—distracted to where if they _did_ notice, neither one of them said anything about it.

When the concert was over and Castiel found them in the crowd, Dean pulled him into a kiss by the front of his silly red robe-thing in front of everyone too—and an entire church besides—and he _still_ didn’t care.

They met back at Jo’s bar to celebrate, and Sam played Cas’s solo over for everyone which he’d captured—“ _Perfectly_ , way to _go_ Sammy!”—on video. All except Charlie, who had offered to bring Jack back to the apartment and stay with him so that they could all go out as a family. Dean had hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear, _“You are family_ ,” before thanking her loudly for her sacrifice, and how it wouldn’t go unnoticed in the realm of their friendship. Charlie had laughed and called him a dork with a fond smile and a wave.

Dean told all of this to Jo, who—he did not fail to notice—seemed rather disappointed that the redhead couldn’t make it.

Dean grinned and took another sip of his eggnog.

Love, it seemed, was in the air this Christmas Eve.

* * *

It was nearing midnight when they finally stumbled home from the bar only slightly inebriated from the ever-flowing goblets of eggnog that Jo had kept coming all night. They found Charlie dozing on the couch when they arrived and while Dean shook her gently awake and sent her home, Castiel checked on Jack. He was just closing the door to Jack’s room when Dean met him in the hall.

“He asleep?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded and allowed his hand to slip from the doorknob.

“Did Charlie have any problems with him?” Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged.

“Naw. Charlie said they watched TV all night, so...” He shrugged again. “Sounds like they had fun together.”

“I was worried he might feel left out,” Castiel said as they made their way to their room.

Dean hummed and slipped his arm around Castiel’s waist.

“I love that you worry about him,” he said. Then he glanced at his watch and stopped them right there in the middle of the hallway, just feet from their bedroom door. He pulled Castiel in close to his chest and stooped down for a slow kiss. Castiel heard his watch beep halfway through it.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean said when he pulled back.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Castiel replied with a smile.

* * *

A knock on their door the next morning woke them up. Dean heard it first, snuffed and rolled over with a sleepy, “Wha? Who ‘s it?”

His voice woke Castiel up, who grumbled something inaudible and buried himself under his pillow.

“It’s Jack. I’m sorry if I woke you. I expected you would be up by now.”

Dean glanced at the clock. It was barely past seven. Dean forced back a groan and took a deep breath, telling himself that murdering teenagers was generally frowned upon.

“It’s Christmas, Jack,” he complained loudly.

“Yes, so it is. Merry Christmas,” Jack said through the door.

“There had better be a good reason why you’re waking us up,” Dean said next.

“Oh. There is,” came Jack’s reply, “I made breakfast. And coffee.”

“Oh. Coffee,” Dean said to himself, not loud enough for Jack to hear. That was reason enough to get up. “Is there bacon?” he called.

“Yes. And French toast.”

That revelation had Dean rolling over and nudging Cas, who was still trying to block out the noise and sleep.

“Cas. _Cas_. Jack made us breakfast.”

Castiel peeked out from under the pillow.

“ _This_ early?” he mumbled. Dean just gave him a sympathetic look and a shrug.

“I think he feels bad he couldn’t get us a gift,” Dean said, low enough so that Jack wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Castiel sighed and shoved the pillow off of his head.

“I told him it was fine,” Castiel mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He sighed. “I was really hoping we might sleep in and…celebrate Christmas morning together,” he said, squinting pointedly up at Dean.

“Hey, you’re the one who brought him home,” Dean replied. He nudged Cas again. “Come on, kid made bacon. And coffee.”

“Surely only one of us needs to appease him,” Castiel said, rolling over and talking into his pillow. “You do it. I’ll stay here.”

Dean grabbed the pillow out from under him and grabbed Cas by the arms, hoisted him into a sitting position. Castiel groaned in complaint but otherwise came along limply. He sighed.

“Fine. _Fine_. I’m up,” he said. He pouted a little, looking back at his pillow and the warm bed.

Then Dean was turning his head and dropping a good morning kiss on his lips. Castiel made a soft _“Mm,”_ sound and slumped into him.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean said.

“Merry Christmas,” Castiel replied with a smile.

They pulled on PJs and shuffled out to the dining room to find Jack waiting with coffee and breakfast. He smiled warmly at them in greeting.

“Castiel. Dean. Merry Christmas,” he said again.

“Merry Christmas, Jack,” Castiel replied. He sat down next to Dean and looked out over the table. There was French toast and scrambled eggs and a plate piled high with bacon set out across it. “This looks wonderful, Jack. Thank you.”

“Oh, it was no trouble at all,” Jack said brightly, “I wanted to show my appreciation for all that you’ve done for me. What you’ve both done for me.”

“And I’m pretty sure Cas told you we’re happy to help you out, kid. You didn’t have to do all this, but I gotta say it looks damn good,” Dean told him. He reached for the bacon and dumped a good third of it onto his plate. “Hey, what’s say we eat up and then go open presents, huh?”

“Yes, that sounds like a fine plan,” Castiel agreed, reaching for the eggs, “Christmas mass is at noon.”

“You singing?” Dean asked him. At Castiel’s nod, he spoke around the bacon in his mouth. “Awesome. Should have plenty of time then. I think Sam and Jess mentioned they’re coming over later this morning to exchange gifts.”

“We’re meeting them and your father after for dinner, correct?” Castiel asked, “I imagine Ellen and Jo will be joining us as well?”

“Yup, Charlie too,” Dean said. He looked over to Jack. “So? Did you two have fun last night?” he asked.

Jack nodded.

“Charlie introduced me to someone called ‘The Doctor,’ Jack explained, “She said it isn’t Christmas without aliens.”

Dean chuckled at that.

“Good ol’ Charlie,” he said, taking another bite of bacon.

They gathered in the living room after breakfast for gifts. Dean set his coffee mug down on the bar, where three Christmas stockings were tacked to the edge and filled with goodies. He handed one to Cas and one to Jack, the last one being for him. This he took and sat down on the floor next to Cas, pulling him into his side.

“Go ahead, Jack,” Dean said, nodding to the stocking in the boy’s lap, “Kids go first, am I right?”

Jack grinned and dug in. Castiel and Dean watched with matching smiles as he lit up at each present he unwrapped. A Gameboy from Charlie with a couple classic games, an assortment of different types of gum from Cas, and a cell phone from Dean.

“This is…” Jack started, gesturing to everything, “I don’t know what to say,” he finished. He looked up and then said, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Jack,” Castiel replied.

Dean opened his stocking gifts next—some beef jerky and candy from Chinatown, a few nips of whiskey, and a new classic rock mix tape for their next trip in Baby that Cas had entitled, _Dean and Cas’s Back Road Mix_. Dean grinned at the last gift and pulled Castiel into a kiss.

“I love it,” he said.

Castiel beamed back at him with bright baby blues.

“I knew you would,” he murmured.

Castiel’s stocking held a number of goodies as well, one of which were more ginger candies from _Aji_ _Ichiban_. Castiel chuckled at that. It seemed they both had a similar idea there. Some of the other stocking stuffers included a CD for an opera he remembered mentioning he wanted and a book about how to connect with difficult teenagers. Castiel laughed at the last gift too.

“For Claire,” Dean explained, glancing over at Jack.

They let Jack open his under-the-tree gifts next—a copy of _My Side of the Mountain_ from Cas and a laptop from Dean. Jack opened this last one with reverence.

“You got me a computer,” he said in dull astonishment.

“Figured it’d be handy,” Dean said, “You know, for when you go back to school.”

“But…” Jack’s face visibly fell. He looked down at his lap. “You are sending me back,” he said quietly.

“No, Jack,” Castiel said, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Quite the opposite. We want to help you get a start here in the city.”

“What?” Jack blurted. He looked to Dean, who nodded and shrugged.

“Yeah, well, since your old man is pretty much useless…” Dean commented. He frowned and then forced a smile on his face. “Well, anyway, it’s his loss. Who needs him, right?”

“Jack, Dean and I talked it over.” Here Castiel’s eyes flickered to his boyfriend, who smiled softly at him. “We thought…well, perhaps you had better open this first.” He handed Jack a small box wrapped in silver wrapping paper and nodded for him to open it.

Jack did so, tearing it open to find a single silver key.

“We agreed it would be best if you had your own place,” Castiel explained.

Jack’s eyes grew impossibly wide.

“You came here to figure out who you are, right?” Dean told the kid, “So, you can’t do that if you’ve got us breathing down your neck all the time. We figured this way might be better for everyone.”

“Not that you aren’t welcome here,” Castiel added quickly, looking to Dean to back him up, “That isn’t what this is.”

“People might start asking questions if you stay here with us for too long,” Dean finished, “We like havin’ you here, sure, but to be honest we kinda need our own space too. Nothing personal, kid.”

“I…yes, I understand. And you’re right. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. You’ve done so much for me already.” Jack stared down at the key in awe, then looked up and blinked. “Thank you. This is more than I could…” He trailed off, unable to find the words so instead he asked Dean, “Where does the key go to?”

Castiel smiled and nodded, lowering his eyes shyly.

“It goes to my old apartment,” Castiel explained, “It isn’t much, but it is affordable. Of course Dean and I are here to help you financially until you are able to pay for it yourself. Whatever you need, you only need to ask.” Castiel glanced at Dean, who nodded his agreement. He looked back to Jack. “However, if you are serious about getting a job…I know of a place that has an opening.”

Beside him, Castiel heard Dean gasp. 

“Cas, you mean—?!” he blurted.

Again, Castiel nodded. This time it was accompanied with a wide smile.

“I spoke with Marlene at the group home. She agreed to hire me on for real. I’ll be their official music teacher starting after the first.” He turned to Jack. “I also spoke with Uriel. Jack, if you want it, he agreed to hire you in my place. You can work part time and still finish school.”

“Holy shit, _Cas!_ ” Dean exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder, “That’s _awesome_ news! See, I told you—I said you should be doing something with music.” Dean grinned stupidly at his boyfriend.

“I would not have considered it if it hadn’t been for you,” Castiel told him. Dean dropped a kiss on his lips, which he could feel Cas smiling through.

“Jack,” Dean said sternly when they pulled apart, motioning at the kid to huddle up and pay attention, “One more thing about the new pad.” He leaned in to tell him the rest, his voice dead serious. “A lot of what we’re doing to help you isn’t exactly legal. _So_. We’re going to have twice-daily check-ins and we’ll be dropping in unannounced from time to time. Oh, and if you’re going to have girls, or guys or— _whoever_ over—you have to clear it with us first, got that?”

Jack nodded vigorously.

“Yes, I understand,” he replied, “Thank you.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. “Now. Where were we?” He looked to Cas, who was seated cross-legged next to him, slouched over and smiling. He leaned naturally into Dean’s space, unconsciously stuck in his orbit. Dean slipped an arm around his waist.

“I believe we were opening presents,” Cas said, looking up at him. “And since Jack is finished either you or I are next.”

“You should go first,” Dean told him, “Mine is less unwrapping and more of a…show-and-tell.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What in heaven’s name did you—?” he started to ask, but then was interrupted by Dean’s phone ringing.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket, “Hang on, it’s Sam. I think he and Jess...” Dean trailed off as he answered the phone and cradled it to his ear. “Sammy? You guys here?” He paused as Sam answered on the other line, during which Dean took the opportunity to mouth a quick _“Sorry,”_ to Cas. “Uh…okay? Yeah, I’ll let him know.”

Dean lowered the phone from his ear with a confused look on his face and turned to Cas.

“He said he needs your help bringing up presents,” Dean told Cas, “ _Your_ help. Not mine. Said he didn’t want me helping for—and I’m quoting here—‘ _reasons’_?”

Castiel nodded in understanding.

“Ah, yes. That makes sense. Your brother has impeccable timing.” Castiel rose to his feet. “I’d better go help him. Jack, would you care to give me a hand?”

Jack shot to his feet, eager to help.

“Yes, of course.”

Dean looked puzzled and a little annoyed that he was being specifically left out, even if it was just to lug stuff upstairs. Castiel stooped down to where he was seated cross-legged on the floor and pressed a kiss to his slightly pouting lips.

“Sam has a good reason,” he said, “Do you trust me, Dean?” he asked.

“What kind of question is that? ‘Course I trust you,” Dean replied, pulling a face.

“We will only be a minute,” Cas told him, and then he and Jack left Dean waiting impatiently by the Christmas tree.

Dean got up and started pacing back and forth while he did, wondering what the hell was going to walk through his front door.

A small parade of Santas, as it turned out. Sam, Jess, Cas and Jack all walked in carrying two red sacks of gifts each and wearing matching Santa hats—the latter of which Sam must have brought with him and doled out downstairs. A number of the bags—six, to be exact—seemed to be fake-stuffed to just look like they were full, leaving Dean to assume that all the real gifts were in the two heavier ones that Sam and Jack carried (since Cas still had the bum arm and Jess was also carrying a few other bags in hers). He was a little surprised, therefore, when Sam passed one of the fake-looking sacks to him with a, “Merry Christmas, Jerk.”

“Merry Christmas, bitch,” Dean shot back immediately. He set the sack down so that he could pull his little brother in a tight embrace.

He said hello to Jess, and then when everyone was seated around the tree, they continued opening gifts.

Castiel grabbed a medium-sized box out from under the tree and handed it to Dean.

“This is half of it,” he explained as Dean took it from him, “Sam and I went in together.”

“Oh, so now you’re conspiring behind my back together,” Dean said, “What’s next? You and Jess going to braid each other’s’ hair?”

Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Just open the damn present, Dean.”

It was a very _Sam_ thing to say, and as he was unwrapping his gift, Dean wondered if he ought to be worried that his boyfriend was getting close enough to his little brother to start sounding like him. Then again, Cas and Sam getting along meant a lot to him. By the time Dean got the last bit of paper off the gift, he decided that he was fine being the brunt of a few jokes if it meant his two favorite people in the world becoming close friends.

Underneath the wrapping paper was one of those cardboard clothing boxes. Dean popped it open to reveal a fluffy white bathrobe with _The Plaza Hotel_ embroidered in gold over the breast pocket. His face lit up in glee.

“Oh, no fricken’ _way_!” he exclaimed. He looked up at Cas. “Is this what I think it is?” he asked excitedly. Castiel beamed at him and nodded, and then Dean was grabbing him by the front of his PJs and pulling him into a sloppy kiss. “It’s awesome and I love it,” he said when he pulled back.

Castiel grinned back at him.

“I thought you might,” he flirted.

Dean kissed him again, slower and less sloppy this time.

Sam cleared his throat loudly.

“Uh, Dean, you want to maybe give it a rest so you can open up the rest of your present?” he said.

Dean scowled at him as he pulled back from the kiss.

“Gee, I don’t know, _Sammy_. Have you always been this big of a Grinch?”

“ _Jerk_ ,” Sam sneered at him.

“Bit—” Dean started to say.

“ _Boys_ , can you knock it off for five minutes?” Jess interrupted. She folded her arms. “And maybe watch your language around Jack?”

“Oh come on, Jess, he’s seve— _eighteen_ ,” Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“ _Great_. Just great. I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear that.” He picked up the sack Dean had put down and threw it at him. Dean caught it easily, but his eyes did widen a little in surprise. “Go on, _Dean_ , open it up,” Sam grinned at him.

Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion. He’d thought the rest of the sacks were just for show—he hadn’t expected them to contain _actual_ gifts. The thing inside was feather-light and plushy…what could it possibly be? Dean undid the knot in the drawstring and peeled the sack back from around its contents to reveal...a pillow. He gasped.

A familiar crest was in the upper left corner of the packaging—the same one that was on the bathrobe Cas had gotten for him, which meant that the pillow was also from The Plaza.

“ _Fuckin’_ no _way!_ ” Dean blurted out in excitement, peeling away the rest of the sack. Sure enough, it contained a brand-new hotel pillow. Dean looked up and scanned the rest of the red sacks Sam and everyone had carried in. _Six_ fake-looking sacks, meaning… “ _Six_ pillows? Seriously? Don’t you think that’s going a little overboard?” Dean said.

“I told him four was plenty,” Castiel explained, “But Sam insisted.”

“It’s the standard for hotel rooms,” Sam provided, “And I know how much you like a good hotel pillow. Figured you’d make good use of them.”

“Oh, I’ll make _good use_ of them, alright,” Dean said, looking at Castiel with a gleam in his eyes, “’S kind of a dream come true. Ain’t that right, Ducky?”

Castiel blushed a little at that and stumbled over his next words.

“I—I did not tell Sam about that,” he said, the blush growing. Dean’s grin only widened.

“You’re keeping the uniform, right?” Dean asked him.

Castiel looked thoroughly flustered at that comment.

“P-perhaps we can talk about this later,” he stuttered, “In private?”

Dean shrugged and smirked a little, but agreed it probably wasn’t a discussion to have in front of his brother and the kid. He _did_ , however, vow to make it happen one way or the other—even if it meant sneaking into the hotel and stealing the thing back from under Uriel’s nose.

They continued on with gifts. Dean didn’t bother opening up the remaining pillows—he could do that later when it was just the two of them. Instead Dean passed Sam and Jess his own gift—a romantic weekend away together at some yoga/spa retreat in Northern California—and accepted his own gift from Jess, which turned out to be a set of grilling utensils and a red apron that said _‘I rub my meat_.’ Sam wasn’t impressed, but Dean loved it.

Cas gave Jess her present—a gift card to Filene’s Basement—and seemed pleased by what he received in return—a red t-shirt with a bell on it from _It’s A Wonderful Life_ and a framed picture of him and Dean in front of the piano at Thanksgiving.

When neither Sam nor Cas moved to exchange gifts, Dean glanced between them in confusion, wondering what was up.

“Didn’t you guys get anything for each other?” he asked.

“Neither of us could think of anything so we came to a mutual understanding,” Castiel explained.

“ _Lame,_ ” Dean said, shooting his brother a look. He turned to Cas, suddenly nervous. “You ready for yours?”

Castiel smiled at him and nodded. He glanced at the tree and noted how there wasn’t anything left under it.

“It seems you were telling the truth about it being unwrapable,” Castiel said, sounding a little nervous. Dean smirked a little at that.

“Well, I might have something for you to unwrap,” he said mysteriously.

He withdrew something that he had hidden deep under the tree. It was small, about three by five inches and flat—perhaps large enough to contain a thick CD case. Castiel took it from him and was surprised by how light it was. In fact, if he didn’t know any better he’d say it was empty. He shook it next to his ear to see if this was true, and heard the faintest swishing noise telling him there was indeed something inside. He slipped his thumb under the tape in the back seam and carefully unwrapped it.

Under the wrapping was a small cardboard box—this Castiel had expected. He opened the box to find a long, red satin ribbon in the box. This he had not.

“Dean, is this supposed to be…symbolic or…I don’t know, an intimate thing? Because if so I am afraid I do not understand.”

Dean laughed at his obvious confusion and slipped the ribbon from his grasp.

“It’s a blindfold,” he said. He shot his brother a look. “ _Not_ a word. It’s not like that,” he told Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“I _know_ what it is, _Dean_ ,” Sam shot back at him, “You’ve been talking about it nonstop for _weeks_.”

Castiel looked to Dean, who blushed red right down to the tips of his ears.

“Shut _up_ , Sammy!” he blurted. He grabbed the closest thing—which happened to be his new pillow—and threw it at his brother.

Sam grabbed it out of the air and tossed it back at his brother with a, “Now who’s a thirteen-year-old girl?”

“ _Dean—_ ” Cas started to say, just as Jess said, _“Sam!”_ in a similarly aggravated tone. Both brothers stopped at the brink of a full-on pillow fight to burst out in laughter. Jess and Cas chimed in moments later, until all four were laughing hysterically.

Jack looked between them all and tilted his head to the side.

“You are a very strange family,” he remarked.

Dean grinned at the kid and said, “You have _no idea_.” Then he gestured at Cas with the blindfold in his hand. “Come on, Sam was right—I’m dyin’ to show this to you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting,” Cas flirted. He eyed the blindfold suspiciously and turned to Jack. “Jack, do you know what he has planned?” Castiel asked.

Jack grinned at him brightly.

“You should let him, Cas,” the boy said, “You’re going to love it.”

Castiel nodded once and looked back to Dean. Then he turned around and allowed Dean to place the blindfold over his eyes.

Immediately everything went a blurred red color. Castiel opened his eyes under the blindfold, but found that uncomfortable so closed them again. He felt Dean’s hand at his elbow.

“You ready, Ducky?” Dean asked him. He heard Sam snort at the nickname and kicked his foot toward the sound in revenge. He heard a soft curse that told him the blow had hit his shin and grinned, turning his attention back to Cas.

Castiel, who could see nothing, smiled at the nickname and nodded.

“Yes, lead the way, _Huggy Bear_ ,” he replied.

“Wait—you call him— _oof!!_ ” Sam started to say.

This time it was Jess with an elbow to the side that shut Sam up. Dean shot him a severe look and turned his attention back to Cas, who was ‘looking around’ the room and probably trying to guess what the hell was going on.

“Dean? Is everything alright?” he asked, sounding a little nervous.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Sam’s just being a _bag of dicks_ ,” Dean told him. He dropped a kiss on Cas’s lips which had the man smiling under his blindfold.

“Wow, real mature _Dean,_ ” Sam retorted, “I can’t believe you put up with him, Cas.”

“He feeds me,” Castiel said with an impish grin. He raised a hand to Dean’s face in the direction of the soft laugh that escaped when he said it and nearly put a finger in Dean’s eye as a result. Dean caught his hand and chuckled again.

“Yeah, okay, let’s move this along before someone _actually_ gets hurt, huh?” he joked. Then he was clambering to his feet and pulling Castiel along with him. “You good?” he asked, and at Cas’s nod, said, “Awesome. Follow me. Watch your—er…I mean, be careful not to trip,” he said.

Castiel had his bum hand outstretched and his other in Dean’s hand, groping—well, _blindly_ —out in front of him. Dean let go of him briefly to scoop a pile of crinkled up wrapping paper out of the way. Sam helped, which Dean sent him a grateful look for doing—because despite all their bickering, he was still the best little brother in the world, most recently because he had listened (however exasperatedly) as Dean had ranted over his Christmas present to Cas. And now that moment was almost here and Dean was…well, he was freaking out a little.

Dean froze, wondering for the umpteenth time if Cas was going to like his gift as Castiel groped blindly out in front of him with both hands.

Dean glanced to Sam, who nodded for him to _fucking get on with it_. Dean gulped and Castiel turned toward the sound.

“Dean? Are you still there?” he asked.

Castiel sensed rather than felt Dean’s nod, or perhaps he just imagined it in his head because he knew the man so well. Then two hands grasped his and then pulled him forward.

“Yeah, ‘m right here,” Dean answered him, a little hoarsely.

Sam, Jack, and Jess followed at a distance as Dean carefully and slowly led Castiel out of the living room, Sam with his camera up on his phone recording the moment for posterity’s sake. Dean sent his brother another grateful look for being so thoughtful.

Dean led Cas around for a good couple minutes before Castiel realized that—large as Dean’s apartment was, it wasn’t _this_ big. And yet he was sure they hadn’t gone outside into the hallway. He would have noticed the change in temperature. It didn’t take him long to figure out that Dean was leading him around the apartment in circles for the purpose of confusing his sense of direction. After another few minutes of circling the place, Castiel was thoroughly lost.

Then suddenly Dean stopped him and guided Castiel’s hand to a doorknob.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean said quietly behind him. Then, with one smooth motion, he slipped the blindfold off of Castiel’s eyes and placed a hand over the one Cas had on the door knob and pushed open the door.

Castiel gasped once he realized what he was looking at.

He was standing at the threshold of Dean’s storage room—the room he had told Cas was off limits until Christmas. Castiel assumed it had been because the gift was ‘unwrapable’ as Dean had said, but now he saw what Dean had really meant. The room _itself_ was the gift.

Dean had turned it into a music studio for him.

“Dean…” Castiel said thickly.

He glanced at his boyfriend with tears pooling in his eyes, then back to the room in wonder. There was a baby grand piano in one corner and a couple of rows of bookshelves against one wall half-filled with books. One shelf looked to contain nothing but sheet music alone. There was an old-fashioned coat hanger in the corner, from which hung a worn leather satchel bag—the kind to be slung over one shoulder. There was a small end table next to the piano with a metronome placed in its center along with a small potted fern. The lighting in the room was a pale, soft yellow. Castiel glanced at the switch and found it to be adjustable. Then he noticed the acoustical ceiling.

“Well? Do you like it?” Dean asked impatiently from behind him. Castiel half-turned to him with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

“I…Dean, this is…I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe you can say that you like it?” Dean said with a weak smile, “So I can stop freaking out?”

Castiel blinked and turned until he was completely facing Dean. Then he pulled the man into a sloppy kiss not unlike the one Dean had given him when he’d opened his own gift.

“I love it,” he murmured against Dean’s lips.

“Heh,” Dean laughed when they broke apart, “I thought you might.”

They kissed again, longer this time, until the entire room melted into the background. Castiel sighed softly against Dean’s lips, his fingers buried in the man’s short blond locks.

Behind them, Sam, Jess, and Jack watched silently while wearing matching smiles. Sam had his arm thrown around Jess and smiled down at her, feeling in the moment both his and his brother’s deep happiness and love for the people in their lives. He found himself wishing their mom was here to see it.

When Castiel broke away from Dean, both of them were smiling brightly. Then Cas was sitting down at the piano in the next moment and lifting back the cover. He placed his hands on the keys and for a long moment he was silent, thinking on the perfect song to perform as the piano’s first. Then he took a sharp breath and began to sing. 

“ _Christmas is the time to say ‘I love you,’_

_Share the joys of laughter and good cheer._

_Christmas is the time to say ‘I love you,’_

_And a feeling that will last all through the year…”_

Dean laughed as he recognized the song. He joined in with Cas, singing along to the parts he remembered. Castiel, as always, never forgot a line.

* * *

The rest of Christmas Day passed in a happy glow, with Dean and Cas orbiting around one another, neither one capable of going more than a minute without some small touch, or smile, or gesture to remind the other of his presence. Sam started out trying to keep count of how many times they paused to kiss, even going as far as to make a secret drinking game out of it at dinner, but was forced to abort mission after his fifth drink and a _very_ stern look from Jess. When he leaned in to tell her what he was doing, however, they ended up placing bets on the final tally.

They lost count somewhere in the low fifties and agreed to call it a night.

The night ended with them all curled up on the couch watching _Love Actually_ and eating Christmas cookies that Ellen had brought over for dessert. Her and John had long since left—headed to the airport for a week away on some tropical island out in the Caribbean (John’s gift to her)—leaving just Sam, Jess, Cas, Dean, Jo, Charlie and Jack in the apartment.

Dean protested loudly at the movie choice—he didn’t care how much Jess insisted it was a classic that Cas just _had_ to watch.

“It’s a _chick flick_ ,” he complained.

To which Castiel pointed out that they had watched Dean’s favorite movie already and this was Jess’s so it was only fair and— _since when did the two of them get along so well?_ Dean glanced over to Sam, who looked equally worried. 

Cas and Jess—who funnily enough _had_ seemed to bond over their mutually idiotic Winchester boyfriends throughout the day—were both crying by the end of the film. Dean swiped at his own eyes with the back of his hand saying, “This is why I hate these damn movies,” which pretty much had Castiel confirming that Dean secretly loved them.

_“All I want for Christmas is you,”_ Cas sang into his ear at the end, quietly enough so that no one but Dean could hear him. Dean hummed back at him and kissed the crook of his neck.

_“One hundred and three,”_ Sam whispered to Jess. Of course it wasn’t an accurate count, but the couple giggled softly in their corner of the couch at their private joke.

They watched _Home Alone II_ after, mainly because it took place at The Plaza, and Dean thought it would be interesting. In one scene, Dean pointed to two men walking down the hallway of The Plaza in the background. One was in a black suit, the other in a very familiar-looking tan trench coat.

“Hey, that could be us,” he said to Cas, who hummed and snuggled closer into his side. Someone—who sounded an awful lot like Sam—shushed him. “Well, it could,” Dean mumbled.

“Shut up and watch the damn movie, Dean!” Sam snapped, lobbing a pillow at his head.

That kicked off yet another pillow fight between the brothers which everyone was far too tired to get in the middle of this time. It petered out some ten minutes later and they were somehow able to watch the rest of the movie in peace.

Dean glanced over at one point to Jo and Charlie, who seemed to be getting pretty cozy at the far end of the couch—a romance just starting out—and then over to the Christmas tree behind them. He could just make out the shape of the two turtledove ornaments that Castiel had placed in the very center of the tree in the faint glow from the television. He remembered when they had purchased them together just a few short weeks ago, how Castiel had said, _“Aren’t they beautiful, Dean?”_ as he picked them up and cradled them in his hands.

Dean thought further back to when those same hands had pulled him into a kiss at the top of a church bell tower, and everything that followed that had led them to this moment—a moment where everything seemed so _utterly_ perfect.

And then, smiling, he came to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Sorry if the end of this chapter seems rushed. I wasn't able to get five minutes to myself over the holidays to write, which is ridiculous considering I was able to on Thanksgiving _and_ cook a turkey so really, what the hell? I blame Jack for most of it. Love that boy, but _damn_ did he throw a wrench in my plot. He's still a new character for me to write, so I hope it's on point. I figured people aren't that interested to read yet another dinner scene so I don't think it will be missed. 
> 
> I also finished Supernatural this week (on the Winter's Solstice, no less--ironic/metaphoric??) SO if things feel a little distant here, it is because I was having trouble connecting to the characters in this story after that giant load of horseshit.
> 
> I think my redemption came when I finally rewatched _Home Alone II_ , which I have mentioned before is the inspiration behind setting this fic in New York City. I was delighted to discover that there are a number of Cas and Dean cameos (mostly Cas) and Cas's coat makes numerous appearances throughout the movie. (I know--it sounds nuts, but it's TRUE!!) If you want to play a fun drinking game, take a sip every time you catch a glimpse of Cas's coat. I guarantee you will get _trashed_. ;) 
> 
> I also realized at one point how many times I have Dean and Cas kiss and...it's a little ridiculous. I will have to count when I get some time but that was the inspiration behind Sam and Jess's little game. XD
> 
> You can listen to the song Cas sings at the end [ HERE ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hxwk3x12ORk). It is by far my new favorite Xmas carol. :)
> 
> For more inside scoops/extra bonus content, check out my LJ [ HERE ](https://regaime.livejournal.com/70490.html)
> 
> Next chapter will be mostly fluff/filler again, but I am out of buffer so expect it later in the weekend. I'll be taking a break after that to catch up and really think about things before I move on into heavier plot. 
> 
> I hope everyone had a Happy Holiday!! :D


	22. Intermission: Celebrating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's New Year's Eve, and love is in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** This chapter is mostly in Charlie's POV and it's my first time writing f/f so go easy on me (which is the main reason I decided not to go past first base so apologies to anyone who might have been looking forward to more than that). :)

* * *

Charlie looked between the slinky blue dress she had laid out on her bed and the full-skirted black one with multi-colored squares. In the first one she looked irresistible. It pretty much guaranteed to get her laid tonight. In the second she looked like confetti which was fitting since she was going to a _New Year’s_ party. And it _also_ made her look irresistible, so either way she was _shiny_.

Charlie went with the second choice.

She shimmied into the dress, reaching back with a groan for the button in the back. After five tries—ten? She lost count is the point—she gave up and hoped no one would notice.

She grabbed flats the same sea-green as one of the confetti colors on her dress, a soft powder-blue clutch that matched a different confetti color, and scurried out the door only a _little_ late for the party at Dean’s. Fashionable. She was going to be fashionable. She _was_ fashionable.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself up until it wasn’t Dean that opened the door for her that evening but—

“Hey, Charlie,” Jo greeted, setting her hand on her hip with a grin.

Charlie felt a pleasant tingle run through her as she locked eyes with the deep chocolate-brown of Jo’s irises.

“Hey Jo,” she replied, her voice excited and squeaky rather than low and smooth like she’d _wanted_ to sound. She put extra effort into the coy smile that she flashed at Jo next, “So…can I come in, gorgeous?” she asked.

Jo’s grin brightened at the compliment. She bit her lower lip and nodded, stepping aside so that Charlie could swagger in. She caught Jo checking her out top to bottom and back again out of her peripheral and smirked a little to herself. _Oh yeah, still got it_.

“I like your dress,” Jo said.

“Thanks,” Charlie said back, doing the same eye rake Jo had but about ten times more obvious.

Jo was wearing a slinky blue dress similar to the one Charlie herself owned, accessorized with a pair of silver bangles at her wrist and a multi-chained necklace that dipped down past her diaphragm and finished in a knotted pendant just above her navel. She was wearing matching earrings and a dark pink shade of lipstick that really brought out her lips. Brushed over her eyes was silver sparkle eye shadow that yeah—definitely reminded Charlie of that movie where a star fell to earth but it was actually this really hot chick— _Stardust?—_ yeah, that was what it was called.

“I love your eye shadow,” Charlie returned.

Jo smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Thanks,” she said. She gestured toward Dean’s oversized living room. “Everyone’s through there.”

Jo led the way, Charlie trailing behind her while appreciating the mesmerizing swing of her hips as she walked expertly on four-inch silver pumps—the kind of shoe that Charlie would break every bone in her body should she attempt it herself. There was a small crowd as they entered. Many of them were coworkers Dean had invited from the office—Charlie grimaced as she caught sight of her underlings Harry and Ed—as well as a few of Cas’s friends. Anna and…Chad? No, it was Chuck. Because when he wouldn’t stop singing _Jingle Balls_ at Dean’s last get-together, Anna had yelled _“Chuck!”_ and Charlie had snorted because she’d been about ready to _chuck_ Dean’s buzzer at his face to shut him up.

She must have smiled or something, because Jo was suddenly looking at her curiously.

“What?” Jo asked.

“Nothing, just…remembering the last time we were here. That was fun, huh?” Charlie said. They stopped in front of the bar—leave it to Dean to have a fully stocked bar in his living room—and Charlie leaned against it, noting the way Jo mimicked her movements. The relaxed line of her body draped over the lacquered wood was something she was clearly used to and something Charlie thought suited her _extremely_ well. She tried not to think about Jo lying on top of the bar while Charlie sucked tequila out of her belly button. Nope. She was _not_ thinking about that.

Then Jo smiled at her and Charlie started a little as a jolt of electricity shot up her spine. _Crap, too late!_

‘ _Gorram it, girl, pull it together!_ ’ Charlie scolded herself, _‘You are_ way _smoother than this! Think Sarah Lance. Think Adlene Adler. Think River Song.’_

If Jo noticed Charlie freaking out under the surface of her cheery expression, she didn’t let it show. Charlie took an even breath in and pushed the smile on her face a little wider.

“So, what’s new?” she chirped to cover up how turned _on_ she was right now.

Jo considered her question with a shrug.

“Not much. Just working, picking up as many shifts as I can, you know? Rent’s going up again this year,” she said.

“You should talk to Dean. I’ve seen some of the apartments his company owns and they’re nice,” Charlie said, “Betcha he’d give you a good deal.”

‘ _And if he doesn’t, I can just hack the system and make it look like you paid your rent.’_ Charlie thought to herself. She didn’t say it though. Jo didn’t need to know everything that Charlie did when no one was watching. If Dean knew he’d probably try giving her a raise again… Charlie mentally rolled her eyes. It wasn’t about the money—she donated a lot of her salary anyway and—well, if she inspired a few sleazeball businessmen into donating too…that was just a bonus. And anyway, it wasn’t _her_ fault that real life was so goddamn boring.

Well, except for right now.

She focused back in on Jo, who was looking at something over her shoulder.

“I think Dean’s got his hands full these days,” Jo commented.

She nodded over to their host and Charlie followed her line of sight over to where Dean was standing amongst a group of friends and family, talking animatedly with one hand. His other arm was slung around Castiel’s waist, and the other man was leaning against him as though they were _actually_ joined at the hip. It was sickeningly sucrose, but…also kind of adorable, if she was being honest.

And maybe she was the teensiest bit jealous.

“When do you think they’ll, you know, tie the big one?” Charlie mused, leaning back with her elbows against the bar. Jo had hers on the bar as well and was resting her chin in her hand. She looked to the ceiling as she thought about Charlie’s question.

“Hard to say. Based on how fast things are moving between them…next week?”

Charlie laughed and shoved off the bar, turning to face Jo completely.

“Sounds about right,” she replied.

There was silence between the two of them for a beat. Fiery and pulsing and inquisitive and _oh, it really was wonderful_ just how _liquid_ Jo’s eyes were. She leaned in closer, wetting her lips, and Charlie sucked in a breath, waiting for it…

Jo cleared her throat and straightened, moving away.

“Can I um…make you a drink?” she asked. She sounded a little nervous, which meant Charlie would need to rethink her strategy here. She was _pretty_ sure Jo was interested, but then she was also pretty sure she’d never been with a girl before. The two sometimes canceled each other out.

“ _Hell_ yes!” Charlie replied however, pretending nothing was wrong. She grinned as Jo laughed at her enthusiastic answer.

“So, what would you like?” Jo asked her.

“Well, what’s your specialty?” Charlie asked back.

Jo’s lip twisted up into slight smirk.

“I make a pretty good Pink Silk Panties martini,” she replied.

The look in her eyes when she said it left any part of Charlie that had been guessing whether she was interested fifty miles back. She quickly calculated how many moves it would take to get her in bed, and was about to open her mouth when—

“Did somebody say pink panties?”

Dean was suddenly there at her side wearing that goofy, overly-excited smile of his that made him look a little like a Tele-tubby. Not that Charlie would ever tell him that.

Charlie hung back her head and groaned out his name.

“ _Dean!_ ”

“What?” Dean said, completely oblivious to what he’d just interrupted.

“I was just about to make Charlie a drink,” Jo told him, sounding amused, “You want one?”

“Hell yes,” Dean replied. He craned his head over the crowd and shouted, “Cas!” then, when his boyfriend didn’t look up, he turned back to them with a quick, “Be right back,” and pushed through the crowd over to him.

Charlie watched as he slipped an arm around Cas’s waist and leaned into his ear to presumably ask him if he wanted a drink. Castiel’s brow furrowed and his head tilted to the side. He asked a question which had Dean throwing back his head and laughing, and when he could speak again, said something that cleared up any confusion. A look of understanding dawned on Castiel’s face, the wrinkles on his forehead smoothed away, and then he was smiling and nodding in response. 

“I guess that’s a yes,” Jo said by her side. Charlie turned back to her and followed her with her eyes as she moved behind the bar like she owned it.

Charlie hopped up on one of the bar stools and rested her elbow on the counter, dropping her chin in her hand as she watched Jo take out a number of bottles of liquor, mixing ingredients, and glasses. She lined everything up on the counter and took out a large shaker, filling it up generously with ice. In went vodka, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice. Jo flashed her a smile before closing the top and starting to shake.

A dreamy smile spread across Charlie’s face. The woman looked damn good rocking that shaker back and forth—it showed off the strong definition of her arms and caused the low cut of her dress to part away from her skin…

There was a _clank_ of ice and then Jo was pouring the drink out between four glasses while hardly spilling a drop and _why was that so gorram sexy?_

The last thing Jo did to finish the drinks was to peel off a few strips of lemon rind with a paring knife as a garnish. These she twisted onto the rim of each glass. Satisfied, Jo placed one of the drinks on a small square napkin and slid it across the bar to Charlie.

Charlie picked up the glass with a flirtatious smile and said, “Bottom’s up.”

She took a sip. ‘ _Oh. Fruity,’_ she thought, then, _‘Oh, tangy.’_ She took another large sip and lowered the glass to the bar.

“I think this might be my second favorite kind of panties,” Charlie said conclusively.

Jo shot her a strange look at that.

“Yeah? What’s your first favorite kind?” Jo asked.

_‘The kind I slip off you later tonight,’_ Charlie thought to herself. But even _she_ wouldn’t say something like that. So, instead she just grinned at Jo and took another sip of her drink.

“ _That_ ,” she said mysteriously, “Would be saying too much.”

Jo seemed a little taken aback by that response, but that was when Dean and Cas showed up for their drinks, so the moment passed. Jo handed out the glasses, explaining what it was called and what was in it as the two tried it. Charlie sipped her drink quietly, watching.

“ _Eugh_ ,” Dean said, placing the drink back down as though it had personally wronged him, “Sorry Jo, it’s too sweet for me.”

Jo shrugged, like it didn’t bother her one bit. Charlie supposed it didn’t, since she was probably used to that sort of thing. She took Dean’s drink back and tossed it down the sink.

Castiel lowered his drink and stared into it, contemplatively.

“Hm. I rather like it,” he said, looking back up at everyone with his signature dopey smile. Charlie snorted a little into her drink.

Dean chuckled and leaned down to kiss Castiel. When he straightened back up he said, “Mm, you taste like peaches.” He leaned in again.

Charlie’s eyes slid over to Jo’s. Once again, _Destiel_ —as Charlie called them in her head—was oblivious to anything and everything around them. Jo plopped a beer down on the counter for Dean to replace his discarded drink for—well, whenever he decided to resurface—and stepped closer to Charlie. She leaned out over the bar.

“Must be nice to live in La La Land,” Jo said, cheek in her hand. She glanced at Charlie.

“Yeah, maybe,” Charlie replied. She took a sip of her drink and said, “Terrible movie by the way, but Emma Stone is like, way hot so I gave it an extra tomato.”

“Oh yeah, I like her. She’s…pretty, I guess,” Jo said, fiddling with her drink. She seemed suddenly shy.

Charlie quirked an eyebrow and thought maybe she was figuring Jo out a little. She seemed to be nervous crossing a certain line. Charlie just needed to find where that line was and kick it in the ass.

Destiel did finally come up for air, and now Dean leaned back against the bar, Cas in the circle of his arms and leaning back against his chest. They were both wearing matching sunburst smiles and moved like a pair of starlings.

_Damn_. Okay, maybe Charlie was a more than a teensy bit jealous. Maybe she was kind-of-a lot bummed that she still hadn’t found someone like that. Gilda, the Hot Hermione from Halloween had been nice, but it hadn’t lasted—a couple hook ups, and then when they _did_ try and go out on an actual date, she talked a little too much about Harry Potter and…well, she hadn’t gotten a call back. But if the girl couldn’t handle a forty-minute discussion about her favorite HP character, then was she even worth it to begin with?

“Do you like Harry Potter?” Charlie blurted all of a sudden.

She bit back a groan. ‘ _Smooth. Real smooth Miss. Princess Laia’n-NO ONE,’_ Charlie berated herself, heavy on the mental sarcasm. Jo probably thought she was nuts now.

“Oh. Yeah, of course,” Jo replied. She seemed a little surprised by the random question, but she was smiling, so that was a good sign.

“Who’s your favorite character?” Charlie asked next. She took a calm sip of her drink and blinked. It was starting to go to her head.

“Let’s see…it’s a tough choice,” Jo replied. She looked at the ceiling and chewed her lip, thinking.

“What’re you guys talking about?” Dean cut in.

“Which Harry Potter characters we like,” Charlie told him.

“I liked Fred and George,” Dean said, “Those guys are hilarious.”

“I like Minerva,” Castiel said, “She’s very intelligent.”

Dean shifted so he could see Cas’s face better and readjusted the arms he had looped around the other man’s waist.

“But McGonagall turns into a cat and you’re allergic to those,” Dean pointed out.

“We weren’t speaking about meeting them in person, Dean,” Castiel replied.

Charlie snorted into her drink again at the way the two _already_ bickered like an old married couple. She shared a glance with Jo and it was clear by the grin on her face that she was thinking the exact same thing Charlie was.

“I like Hagrid,” Jo said, finally making up her mind.

“ _Everyone_ likes Hagrid,” Charlie said, “He doesn’t count. Pick someone else.”

Jo shrugged.

“I guess Hermione is pretty badass,” she said, reconsidering.

“Oh be still my beating heart,” Charlie said, “I mean—did I say that out loud?”

Dean sniggered, so she guessed that was a big _yes_.

Jo stared at her in shocked amusement, probably trying to decide just how off-the-rails nuts she was and whether it was safe being within ten feet of her.

“Whatever happened to the Hermione chick from Halloween?” Dean asked, and Charlie had never been so glad for the distraction, even if the subject manner was less than savory.

“It…didn’t work out,” Charlie said, shooting Dean a pointed look, “Anyway, her loss, am I right?”

She took a nervous sip of her drink and avoided Jo’s eyes.

Dean saw something across the room and untangled himself from his boyfriend, dropping a quick peck on Castiel’s lips before saying, “That’s Sammy. Be right back.”

Castiel hopped up on the bar stool next to Charlie with a lazy smile, watching as Dean bounded across the room. Charlie followed the line of his gaze, just in time to see Dean clapping his hand on Sam’s arm in greeting. Sam bent in to tell him something that—if the look on Dean’s face was any indication—was pretty serious. Then Dean was smiling and pulling Sam into a tight hug.

“I wonder what that’s all about,” Jo mused.

“I imagine Sam told Dean about his conversation with Jess’s father,” Castiel revealed. He looked over at the two of them. “He is planning on proposing tonight, and if all goes well, she’ll say yes. Dean has been a nervous wreck all week.”

“So _that’s_ why Dean told me to hide the good champagne earlier,” Jo said, leaning out across the bar. She grinned and watched the two brothers from across the room, where Sam glanced around to make sure Jess was far enough out of eyeshot before showing Dean something he had in his pocket.

Then Dean placed a hand on Sam’s arm and asked him something serious. Surprise flitted across the younger Winchester’s face, only to be replaced by a goofy smile a moment later. He pulled Dean into another tight embrace and said something that looked an awful lot like, _“Happy for you, man_.”

“How about that?” Charlie asked Cas.

Castiel frowned and quirked his head.

“That I do not know,” he said.

“Could be you next, you know,” Charlie told him, nudging Cas’s arm.

“I—i-it’s much too soon for that,” Castiel stuttered back.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at him.

“Seriously? You’re telling me you’ve never thought about it?” she pressed.

“I…no, I…ah… I haven’t given it much thought,” Castiel replied. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt, which he had rolled up past the cast on his arm.

“Bullshit,” Charlie said, “C’mon, even someone as dopey as you has got to realize that’s where you two are headed. Back me up here, Jo.” Charlie glanced over to the blonde.

“She’s right, Cas,” Jo said, “I’ve known Dean practically my whole life, and I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”

“If he were to ask you tonight,” Charlie pressed, “What would you say?”

Castiel blushed bright red, right down to the collar of his shirt.

“I…ah…” Castiel started to say.

Then Dean was suddenly there beside him wearing a blindingly bright smile, and that was the end of _that_ conversation.

“Heya, Ducky. What’cha guys talking about?” Dean asked.

“We were wondering what Sam had to say,” Castiel replied smoothly. He shot Charlie a look warning her to keep her mouth shut.

_‘As if I would say anything,’_ Charlie thought to herself. She gave Cas an exaggerated eye roll behind Dean’s back.

“He got the green light,” Dean told them all excitedly. He directed the next part at Jo. “You got that champagne close by?”

Jo nodded.

“Awesome. Shit’s going down pretty soon, I think,” Dean said. He looked back to Cas with a soft smile on his face. “Is your phone handy? I wanna video this shit.”

“Let me guess—yours is dead again because you either forgot to charge it or ran the battery down playing Angry Birds,” Castiel said dryly.

“Uh…both?” Dean replied with a pathetic _I-know-I’m-an-idiot-but-you-still-love-me-right?_ smile.

Castiel drew his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Dean with a roll of his eyes.

Dean pecked him on the cheek.

“You’re the best,” he said.

“Just remember to charge it when you’re done,” Castiel told him.

Dean wasn’t listening—he was looking down at Cas’s phone and Cas gave a small, resigned sigh that had Charlie thinking _he_ would be the one to remember to plug the phone in later, not Dean.

“Oh hey, Jack texted you,” Dean said. He held the phone up so that Cas could read it. Castiel smiled once he had.

“Where is Jack? I thought he’d be here,” Charlie asked, mostly to remind them that they weren’t the center of the universe, regardless of how much their life resembled trashy fanfiction, but also because she was genuinely curious. She liked Jack. He was a good kid. _And_ he liked Doctor Who.

“Jack is spending his first night in his new apartment,” Castiel supplied. He turned the phone around so that they could all see the picture of Jack set up on the bed with a bottle of sparkling cider and the live feed of Time’s Square up on what looked to be a brand new, rather large flat screen television. Probably a housewarming present, since Cas had confessed to not owning one when Charlie had questioned his—frankly pathetic—pop-culture knowledge.

Conversation drifted between the two about Jack. Charlie sipped at her drink and found her attention diverted to the stunning blonde behind the bar. She smiled and turned around on her seat so that she was facing Jo directly.

“So, how long have you been a bar wench?” Charlie asked her, grinning into her drink.

“I prefer the term bartender,” Jo corrected her, wiping down the counter out of habit, “But pretty much since I was old enough to carry a beer on a tray. Practically my whole life. My mom owns this place in Nebraska. Not much more than four walls and a keg, but it’s something in the middle of a whole lot of nothin’ so that helps.” Jo told her. She smiled. “You know, I think that’s the first time I thought of home since I left.”

“And?” Charlie asked, curious, “How was it?”

She was nearing the end of her drink. Jo pulled the ingredients out to make more, hesitating in her answer.

“Better than I expected, for one,” she answered, pouring out the liquor. Her mouth as she added the cranberry juice into the shaker and closed it was a thin line, her expression just as tart. “We didn’t see eye-to-eye, me and my mom. She still treats me like a kid. So I left, set out on my own.” She took a deep breath. “And honestly? It’s the best decision I ever made. It actually pays to be good at what I do here. Did you know there’s a bartending school only a few blocks from where I work? I’m thinking of enrolling.”

She slid Charlie’s new drink over to her as she finished. Charlie held it up between them. “To kicking ass,” she said.

Jo grinned and clinked their glasses together.

“To kicking ass!” Jo echoed. She took a sip of her drink and then asked, “So? What’s your story?”

Charlie took a breath. _Boy_ , was that ever a loaded question.

“Oh you know, the usual,” she replied coolly, “Authority issues, rebellious teen spirit, some illegal activity…” She looked at Jo slightly nervous of how she was going to take that last one. “This is a judgment free zone, right?” she joked in her _serious-not-serious-but-actually-yeah-kinda-serious_ voice.

Jo looked at her like that was a really dumb fucking question, and answered with, “Are you kidding? Pretty sure it’s illegal for a kid to serve alcohol but hey, nobody ever complained.”

And…yeah. ‘O _kay, deep breath Charlie_ ,’ she coached herself, _‘A string of perfect answers does NOT mean_ she’s _perfect.’_

If Charlie was being really honest though? She wasn’t convinced.

“My parents died in a car crash when I was fifteen and after that I just…bailed,” Charlie explained in more detail, “I ran out on child services and hightailed it to Chicago. Knew some LARPing friends who lived there who helped me out for a while until I figured out how to hack credit cards and print fake IDs. Made a killing after that. Fell in with a not-so-great crowd for a little while and…yeah. Left that all behind ages ago for here. Now I work at _Winchester Enterprises_ as their head of IT. I’m practically a professional.”

Dean, who she hadn’t realized was listening from her side, nudged her arm.

“You _are_ a professional,” he said. He frowned at her slightly. “You never told me any of that,” he said.

“You’re not pretty enough,” Charlie told him.

“She told me,” Castiel broke in, looking between them.

And yeah, okay, _maybe_ she remembered chatting to Cas once after wrapping at the soup kitchen one afternoon when Dean couldn’t make it. It was one of the few things they had in common after all, other than being queer and volunteering at the kitchen. Cas had been homeless once too—he’d run away from home like she had. And yeah, the circumstances were different but it was still a bond that only the two of them could understand.

She really didn’t want Dean knowing any of that, though, so instead she smiled like a goof and said, “His dopey smile completes me.”

Which was ridiculous enough for Dean to forget all about the subject manner when he finally stopped laughing.

The lights dimmed a couple minutes later and the song over the speakers changed to Celine Dion’s _How Does a Moment Last Forever_. Dean stood ramrod straight looking like he’d just been electrocuted and wearing that terrified parent face that Charlie had only ever seen on her ex Dorothy’s face when Charlie decided to teach her dog how to skateboard.

“Shit, that’s my cue!”

Dean grabbed Cas’s hand and dragged him across the room where Sam had turned to Jessica, Castiel’s phone ready to capture the proposal on video.

Charlie watched as Sam got down on one knee and brought out the ring. He said something sappy that had both him and Jessica _and_ Dean crying, and then Jessica had her hands over her mouth and was nodding furiously sobbing, “ _Yes, yes!”_ through her tears.

Jo nudged her and gestured to a line of flute glasses she had poured out for the toast.

“Give me a hand?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Charlie replied, smiling. Her cheeks glowed as she stared at Jo, neither one of them moving for a long pause. Charlie counted the slow beats of her heart under her breath. _One…two…three…_

Before she could reach four, she was pretty sure she had fallen halfway in love with the woman.

She blamed it completely on Sam’s teary-eyed proposal and Dean and Cas’s saccharinely sweet display of affection all night and— _frak her_ —the fact that she was such a _hopeless_ romantic at heart.

“Is there a tray? That way I can carry more at a time,” Charlie said to cover up the sudden rapid-fire beating of her heart.

Jo grinned and pulled one out from behind the bar.

“I didn’t know you knew how to bartend,” she said.

“Bitch, please, there’s a _lot_ about me you don’t know,” Charlie flirted at her. She winked to add some extra spice.

Charlie brought the champagne over to everyone now crowded around Sam and Jess, either to offer enthusiastic slaps on the back and exclaims of _“Congratulations!”_ and _“So happy for you two!”_ or to fawn over the sizable diamond ring Jess now wore on her finger. She passed around the flutes and went back to the bar for more.

On her second trip back with an empty tray everyone was all of a sudden shouting. Charlie looked back and saw the ball starting to drop on-screen Dean’s bigass television. She glanced back to Jo and joined in the fray.

“ _Seven!”_ she shouted with the crowd, _“Six! Five! Four!”_

Jo chimed in toward the end.

“ _Three! Two! ONE!”_

_“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”_ the room cheered as one, throwing up hands and confetti, clinking glasses of champagne, or twirling noisemakers around and honking their blowouts.

Charlie watched as Dean leaned into Cas with a murmur on his lips that she could read all the way across the room— _“Happy New Year, Ducky.”—_ and then he was kissing Cas deeply, his face cradled in Dean’s hands.

Sam and Jess were kissing too right next to them. And Anna and Chuck—hell, even _Harry_ had a date.

Charlie turned back around to face Jo and thought to herself, _‘Oh, what the hell. It’s New Years. Toss a coin and take a gamble, right? Let’s see how this year is going to turn out.’_

Then she leaned over the bar, slipped a hand behind Jo’s neck, and pulled her into a kiss.

Jo gasped and then melted against her mouth. Her lips were just as soft as Charlie had imagined they would be, and so much more besides—sweet with the faint taste of peaches and tart with the tang of cranberries from her drink—warm like a Xbox that had been running for too long or a sunbeam cast across her bedroom floor—and last of all, _best_ of all, intense and fleeting like a really good Mortal Kombat round.

Charlie pulled back feeling love-drunk and more than a little breathless. She surveyed Jo carefully, trying to gauge the other woman’s feelings from the expression on her face.

Jo peered at her, her brown eyes that same churning molten chocolate as always. She seemed thoughtful and from the light flush of her cheeks, the kiss must have been pretty good for her too.

Charlie smiled.

“So? How was your first time kissing a chick?” she asked.

Jo frowned a little at that.

“How do you know it was my first time?” she replied a little defensively. Charlie just gave her a look.

“Seriously?” Charlie said, “Veteran here. I can tell.” She smiled. “So? How was it?”

Jo blushed and looked away, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“It was…nice,” she admitted.

Charlie’s grin only grew wider.

“Come on, you need to give me more than that. Nice as in…‘that was a fun experiment but not sure it’s for me’, or nice as in ‘hell yeah let’s do that again as soon as possible’ or—?”

Jo’s response was to capture her mouth again. Charlie abruptly stopped talking and sighed into her mouth.

“So, door number two, I guess,” she said when Jo pulled back.

Jo seemed a little shy, but she smiled and nodded. Then she looked down at the counter, wiping at some non-existent spill with her hand.

“I’m still pretty new at this,” she admitted, “I mean, I’ve always suspected but I never…um…until you.”

“I have that effect on women,” Charlie said. She could feel her grin stretching wider. “Why don’t we take this party elsewhere? It’s a little too crowded in here for my tastes.”

Jo rolled her eyes.

“You realize I’m a bartender and I hear that pickup line on a daily basis, right?” she said, “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“What if I said it in Klingon?” Charlie flirted.

“It would still be a terrible line,” Jo replied.

Charlie said it anyway.

“May'luchwIjmo' Qobbe' tajmey 'ach tIqwIj luDuQ mInDu'lIj!” Okay, so maybe that meant something completely different, but it wasn’t like Jo was going to know that. She paused and added, “ _BIyaj'a', qar'a'? SoHvaD porghwIj vIparHa'._ ”

Jo’s brow furrowed.

“What was that last part?” she asked.

Charlie winked at her.

“Maybe you should come back to my place and find out,” she said.

Again Jo rolled her eyes, and Charlie thought to herself that if a series of bad pickup lines was how she got Jo in bed with her, she was perfectly okay with that.

She didn’t think Jo took her seriously though, until the blonde moved from behind the bar and stepped in close to her.

“Well? Are you telling me you’re all talk, or are we doing this?” Jo said.

Charlie blinked.

“ _Che'ron 'oH parmaq'e' 'ej DaHjaj SuvwI' jIH!_ ” she said.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jo replied.

While Jo grabbed her purse and coat from the spare bedroom, Charlie went over to Dean and Cas to say goodbye.

“You’re leaving?” Dean said to her, sounding disappointed, “Already? I thought you wanted to marathon _Lord of the Rings_ and time it so that we hit daybreak with the sun rising over Helm’s Deep.”

“I did,” Charlie admitted, “But alas, handmaiden, my loyalties now lie elsewhere. Later, bitches!”

She gave them both a hug, and went to meet Jo at the door.

She caught Dean and Cas watching her, Dean with a surprised look on his face when he realized they were leaving together. Charlie held up her hand in the traditional Vulcan fashion and smiled back at them before opening the door for Jo and following her out.

The cab ride back to her apartment was short but deafening with the tension between them, and Charlie really wanted to grab Jo around the waist and pull her onto her lap in full view of the cabbie, but she kept her hands clutched around her…well, her _clutch_ instead, counting the passing seconds in her head. They made small talk, but it was awkward and disjointed and often their sentences trailed off into silence that pulsated with a metric fuck-ton of sexual tension.

Charlie _would have_ grabbed Jo into a kiss as soon as they crossed the threshold of her apartment, but she was trying to be a lady, someone worthy of the title _Queen_ _of Moondoor_ , so instead she offered Jo a drink on the grounds that it was her turn to mix Jo up a cocktail.

“Do you like gin?” Charlie asked her.

“I like pretty much anything. Except Jegger,” Jo replied.

Charlie mixed up the drink with a smile tugging at her lips.

“I feel like there’s a story behind that,” she said.

Jo grinned at her and leaned across her breakfast bar. Charlie blinked slowly and tried very hard not to think about what she would look like on top of it. Naked.

“First and only time I tried it was with friends for my twenty-first birthday,” she said, “Had about six shots in half an hour.” She laughed as Charlie winced. “I know, but it was going down pretty smooth. I didn’t even have a hangover the next day, but then someone mentioned Jegger at breakfast and I nearly lost it at the table. Haven’t touched it since.”

Charlie laughed.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” She slid the finished drink over to Jo. “Here you go, a Charlie original. I call it the ‘Salty Mule’.”

Jo raised an eyebrow at her and took a sip.

“Hm,” she said thoughtfully, rolling the drink around on her tongue and considering the taste, “It’s good. I never would have thought of adding salt to a gin mule, but it works. Gives it a little… _umph_.”

She set the glass back down on the counter and smiled coyly at Charlie.

That did it. Charlie was moving around the edge of the counter and pulling Jo into a kiss before she could think twice about it.

The taste of salt and lime and ginger beer was on her tongue this time, and Charlie made a _“Mmm,”_ noise into her mouth, feeling all the pent-up frustration of the night rising quickly to the surface. She opened her mouth wider and angled her head to get better purchase, her heart thrumming as Jo gasped and moved with her. Charlie slipped a hand around her and trailed her fingers down the back of her dress, pulling Jo into the soft curve of her body.

Jo broke away for only a second to ask with wide, simmering brown eyes where this was going, and then they were falling back together and moving toward Charlie’s bedroom.

She heard her phone ping out in the kitchen while she was lowering Jo back to the bed and pulling off her shirt, but there was no way she was stopping to see who it was.

* * *

Back at the party, Dean frowned down at his phone.

“She’s not answering,” he said.

“She is probably busy,” Castiel noted.

“Heh, good point.”

Dean stowed his phone in his pocket and leaned down to kiss Castiel, slow and tender and sweet. He smiled as he pulled away, the pleasant fluttering of his heart in his chest making him a little breathless.

“Happy New Year, Cas,” he said affectionately.

“Happy New Year, Dean,” Castiel replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Whew!! Couple of things. First of all, this chapter was a real challenge for me. I've been writing Destiel for 500+ pages and...I thought switching gears would be a nice break and also set a boundary between parts I and II, but ... it was actually really fucking hard. 
> 
> Is anyone surprised that Sam was the one to propose this chapter? What did Dean ask Sam??? I've been dropping some pretty obvious hints so I'm sure you all know what's coming next. :D
> 
> Here's what Charlie says in Klingon:  
> “may'luchwIjmo' Qobbe' tajmey 'ach tIqwIj luDuQ mInDu'lIj!” = "My armor shields me from knives, but your eyes pierce my heart!"  
> “bIyaj'a', qar'a'? soHvaD porghwIj vIparHa'” = “Are you a time traveler? Because I see you in my future.”  
> “Che'ron 'oH parmaq'e' 'ej DaHjaj SuvwI' jIH!” = “Love is a battlefield, and today, I am a warrior!”
> 
> I passed 200K words! Whoo hoo!!!! Next chapter begins Part II. I'm sorry to say it, but I'm out of buffer and I need to do some serious brainstorming and plot rearranging before I can start the next chapter, so it might be a couple weeks. (I will post something in time for Dean's birthday, I promise.) I'm really sorry about this because I love posting weekly, but I've also felt burnt out since before Thanksgiving and while the new job is part time, I don't have the luxury of spending all my waking moments thinking about this like I could before. I want to give you dorks quality shit, and in order to do that I need a bit of a break. I've a feeling that as soon as I let myself off the hook the inspiration will come rushing back, so who knows. Just don't expect anything. ;)
> 
> Happy 2021 everybody!! :D


	23. Part II: Reaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dean and Castiel take yet another important step toward their future, and a 'family dinner' ends on a sour note, Castiel learns that convincing Claire to let him help her is going to take a more subtle approach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First of all, I am SO, SO SORRY that it took me this long to update, but I am certain the length/content will more than make up for it. :)
> 
> **Disclaimer:** As I said before, I know very little about Group Homes and how they operate, so my apologies if I got anything wrong.

* * *

Castiel was awakened early on the first of January by a heavy press of lips to his neck and under his jaw. He made a whine of complaint followed by an aroused huff as Dean tugged teeth at his earlobe.

“ _Nnn_ , _Dean_ ,” Castiel grumbled, keeping up the pretense of being sleepy when, in fact, he was quickly becoming intensely aroused. He only did it so that Dean would do what he always did on mornings when Cas played hard to get. Sure enough, after a few minutes, Dean’s attention slipped down under the covers and between Castiel’s legs.

Castiel let out a relaxed sigh and arched back into his pillow, thinking of how deliciously indulgent it was of him to deceive Dean in this small way. Though, Dean certainly seemed to be enjoying it, first flicking teasingly at the tip of his cock with his tongue, followed by a few lazy licks up the shaft. By then Castiel was wide awake and shaking, about ready to plead for Dean to _just get on with it_ , when Dean swallowed him whole and inserted two fingers into his anus at the same time. Castiel couldn’t help it—he bucked up into Dean’s mouth, groaning loudly. Dean was ready for him, and pulled off briefly to grin up at him.

“Like that, did you?” he asked.

“Dean, shut up and finish me,” Castiel demanded. 

“I love it when you get bossy,” Dean told him slyly, before wrapping his hand around the base of Castiel’s cock and lowering back down around him.

Castiel groaned in relief as Dean picked up an even pace, jerking up when Dean moaned down around him, his tongue hot and slick as it slid along the length of Castiel’s cock. Castiel moaned along with him and came—gushing—not too long after. 

Dean crawled up to his shoulder and pressed a kiss to the flushed, exposed skin, then reached up and pressed a longer one upon his lips. He pulled back briefly, coming apart with a soft, slick sound and then diving back down into the wet cavern of Castiel’s mouth. The small, intimate sound of their lips moving slowly, languidly, sounded like _good morning_ , like _I love you_ , like _how did I ever live without you_? The second time Dean pulled back, he grinned down at Castiel with eyes that practically sparkled with affection.

“Morning there, Ducky,” he murmured against Castiel’s lips. 

Castiel hummed blissfully and pulled Dean closer to him, reaching down between them. He found Dean hard and eager beneath the sheets.

“Good morning yourself, Huggy Bear,” he replied in a low gravel, wrapping along the length of him.

Dean captured his mouth again, fiercer this time and with the added action of grinding his hips as Castiel ran his palm along the length of him, jerking upward with a grunt of effort and a twist of his wrist. Dean groaned and hung his head back, looping an arm around Castiel and pressing a hand between his shoulder blades. Castiel continued to tug and twist, staking his claim with his lips to Dean’s carotid artery, matching each noise that slipped free from Dean’s dirty, _delicious_ mouth with his own. He’d gotten pretty good at left-handed hand jobs in the two months of being in a cast, a skill for which Dean was obviously thrilled with.

Castiel wound his cast hand through Dean’s hair, carding his fingers through the short, blond strands. He pulled lightly but firmly, grinning as Dean let out a long, loud, gasping moan.

“ _F-fuck, Cas_ ,” the man panted, arching against him. Castiel found his mouth again and grinned into their next kiss.

When the noises between them became something more like, _oh god don’t stop need you right here right now,_ followed by another heady moan from Dean, Castiel withdrew and crawled up to the nightstand where the necessary items were kept. Dean, impatient as always when he was this close, took the condom and lube from him with scrambling fingers, and letting out a harsh curse, he fumbled the thing open. As soon as it was on, he wasted no time grabbing Castiel about the hips and shoving into him with a punch of breath. He picked up a fast pace that had Castiel bracing the headboard and pushing back to match the impact of Dean’s thrusts. He was panting fast, the sweat dripping down his temples and into his face. He was hard again, and the slow, sweet blossom of pressure building each time Dean’s cock slammed against his prostate drew obscene noises from his mouth. He let out a gasping moan as Dean wrapped a hand around him and began to stroke. His cast hand flew back to grab onto the back of Dean’s thigh, guiding him in ever harder with each thrust.

Dean had his head back and his eyes closed. One long, oscillating moan streamed from his mouth, wide open and gaping. His voice pitched higher the closer he got to orgasm, and it had Castiel’s cresting with him, riding a tidal wave of ecstasy that left them shipwrecked and trembling together on a billowy beach of Egyptian cotton made damp by their sweat.

Castiel loved every second of it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean said again when they were finished. He rolled off to the side of Cas, on his back, and breathed heavily. “That’s a helluva good way to start the year,” he noted.

Castiel snorted in amusement and snuggled into his side, running fingers through his love’s hair as they cuddled together and basked in the afterglow of good sex. Dean hummed in contentment as Castiel’s cast scraped against his skull. He turned his head to press a kiss to wherever was closest, which happened to be at Cas’s temple.

“Gonna miss this kink once that cast is off,” Dean murmured, nuzzling into him and closing his eyes with a soft sigh.

Castiel’s fingers paused only briefly before continuing.

“Oh?” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

“Come on, don’t play dumb,” Dean replied, cracking open one eye, “You know _exactly_ what you’re doing. Driving me goddamn crazy too.”

His lips curved into a dirty smile, and his other eye blinked open. Castiel felt a similar smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said, aloofly. His smile grew shy as Dean chuckled, but he continued to run his hands through Dean’s hair. “We could stay in bed until my appointment,” he suggested.

Dean laughed at that and reached over to pat him on his beautifully round, plump bottom.

“’Preciate the thought, but I’m freakin’ _starving_ after that,” he said, “Come on, lover boy, time to make the bacon.”

“And the coffee,” Castiel added.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, grinning at him. He untangled from Cas and sat up, admiring the man’s sex-tousled bedhead and large, sapphire-blue eyes. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he said.

Castiel blinked at that, shifting to where he could look at Dean more directly. It wasn’t like him to say things like that.

“What’s with you this morning?” he asked, squinting at the man.

“Nothin’,” Dean replied quickly, hiding his blush behind the hand he ran over the back of his neck, “Just…new year and all that. And you’re here, and…I dunno. A lot is changing.”

Ah. That made more sense. Castiel nodded and sat up as well, looping his arms around Dean’s torso to embrace him from behind. He rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder and drew him in close.

“They are all good things,” he noted.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, and Castiel didn’t need to see it to know he was smiling. He could hear the happiness in Dean’s voice.

“I love you.” The words slipped out of Castiel’s mouth automatically, without thinking. He said them so often these days, as if making up for the long years of being alone.

“Yeah,” Dean said again, this time sounding a little embarrassed, “Love you too, Cas.”

Castiel was silent for a long minute, just holding him. He buried his nose in the crook of Dean’s neck, the soft strands of his hair pressed against his cheek. Something in the way he clung to Dean a little tighter than usual told Dean that there was something on his mind. He seemed to be working up to saying something, so Dean just let Cas hold him, waiting until he was ready.

“I’m nervous,” Castiel said finally, “About the future. All of my dreams are coming true, Dean.”

“Yeah, and?” Dean said, looking back over his shoulder. He couldn’t see Cas’s face, just his tousled bedhead and the creases at the corners of his eyes. “Isn’t that a good thing?” Castiel’s nose rubbed against his back, up and down. A nod. “Then what’cha worried for?” This time the nose moved right to left, as Castiel shook his head.

“I do not know,” he said, “It’s just a feeling I have. Like something might happen to take it all away.”

Dean drew Cas’s arms around him tighter, his hand covering the one that Castiel had resting above his belly button.

“You’re just feeling that way ‘cuz of how new everything is,” Dean told him, “You’re worryin’ for nothing, Cas.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Castiel mumbled into his back.

Dean waited to see if Cas would say anything more, and when he didn’t, he gave Cas’s hand a little pat. “Come on,” he said, “Time for coffee.”

Castiel’s responding grumble was reluctant, but with the promise of caffeine, Dean was finally able to lure him out of bed.

* * *

Castiel really did seem nervous at breakfast. He fidgeted with his coffee mug and barely touched the omelet that Dean made for him, no matter how tasty it was.

“Come on, Ducky, you gotta eat something,” Dean urged him, “You can’t be running on empty on your first day. Claire will _level_ you.”

Castiel made a low, disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. A slight frown graced his face as he stared down into his quickly cooling eggs.

“Still that worried, huh?” Dean asked him, leaning into his space at the breakfast bar so that their shoulders were pressed up together. “You’ll do fine, Cas,” he added.

“Yes, I know,” Castiel replied. He took a contemplative sip from his coffee and then peered down into the mug. “You realize… this is the first time I have pursued my dreams rather than move forward with a logical plan. It is…a little harrowing. That’s all.”

Castiel glanced at Dean shyly, a light blush to his cheeks, and Dean understood what he meant. He was risking a lot, trusting Dean like this—putting all his eggs in one basket as the saying went.

“I’m proud of you,” Dean told him, “And I’m thrilled you’re doing this.” Castiel smiled at him adoringly in lieu of a response, and Dean felt the familiar rush of happiness that accompanied him whenever he thought of how god damn _lucky_ he was to have this man in his life—and the automatic smile that lit up his face whenever he thought of the decision he had come to over Christmas.

Then he remembered he was supposed to go look at rings today and his stomach did a nervous flop.

“You’re done at five, right?” Dean asked, stuffing in a bite to cover up any strange expression his face might be making, “Is Jack still joining us for dinner?”

Castiel nodded.

“Yes,” Castiel supplied, “Are you still planning on picking me up after work?”

Dean made sure the smile on his face stayed smooth as he answered.

“Hell yeah,” he said, “Wouldn’t miss it. Can’t promise the same for tomorrow though. I have that meeting. You know—the one in Toledo? I’ll uh…probably be home pretty late.”

“Yes, I remember,” Castiel answered. He took a bite of eggs and chewed tentatively around it.

Dean held his breath, waiting for him to ask something more, to make a comment about the supposed ‘meeting’ that Dean had the following day. When he didn’t, Dean let out the breath and tried to tell himself that he was working himself up for nothing. It was just a boring old meeting to Cas—he didn’t typically ask about those. Of course Dean had a backup story prepared, but he was unlikely to need it.

Dean’s phone buzzed on the counter, lighting up the small screen. He glanced over to see Sammy’s text run across the top bar.

_‘Let me know how things go today! Call if you need a second opinion.’_

Dean covered the screen quickly with his hand, just in case Castiel was looking, but when he turned back his boyfriend was far too invested in his breakfast to have noticed. Still, Dean’s heart thumped against his chest like a hammer, and he wondered how he was going to make it through the next couple of days with the landmine secret he was sitting on.

Two days. He could do this, Dean told himself. Well, he supposed it was four days if he counted until the end of the week. He planned to take Castiel out to dinner Friday night for a fancy meal. By this time next week, he would know one way or the other.

Dean felt suddenly nauseous thinking about it—about whether or not Castiel would be sitting by his side like this a week from today. The implication of the thought made him jittery and anxious, and he couldn’t make up his mind as to what was going to do him in first—the waiting, or keeping a secret this big to himself. He wasn’t used to keeping things from Cas _period_ , regardless of the circumstances.

Dean slid from the stool and dropped a kiss into the soft nest of messy brown hair atop Cas’s head before bringing his dishes to the sink.

“Gonna go shower,” he said upon leaving the room, “The rest of the coffee is all you.”

Castiel grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt as he was passing and pulled him into a kiss. He braced his cast arm behind Dean’s head on purpose, threading his fingers through the short strands of Dean’s hair.

“My hero,” Castiel murmured playfully when he pulled back.

The goofy, glowing smile on his face put Dean’s nerves at ease. Once again he felt a comforting blanket of peace settle over his heart and thought to himself that no matter what happened, he wanted this man by his side for good. Dean only hoped it was what Castiel wanted as well.

Dean texted Sam back once he was in the privacy of their room, then opened the one Charlie had sent him earlier that morning.

_‘Turns out your ‘beanpole’ is pretty fucking squiggly,’_ the text read. There was an accompanying picture of her and Jo snuggling together in her bed. Both of them had morning-after bedhead and looked like they had been up all night ringing in the new year with a bang. Dean chuckled and sent her back a response.

_‘Happy for you guys! Just think, we could_ actually _be related if things work out_.’ Dean sent the text and hesitated before sending another follow-up response. _‘Cas too.’_

The reply was fast to come.

_‘I KNEW IT! You’re asking him, aren’t you!?!!’_

Dean smiled and thumbed out his reply.

_‘NOT a word. But if anyone asks, I’ll be in Toledo tomorrow for a ‘meeting’._ ’

_‘Let me know if you need me to fake your plane ticket,’_ came the reply, followed by a winky face.

Dean chuckled and stowed his phone on the counter before stepping into the hot stream of the shower. He let the spray beat down over his head, the cacophony of rushing water in his ears soothing away his nerves and massaging the faint tension headache that had crept up the base of his neck since breakfast. He heard Cas shuffle in to brush his teeth, and he was suddenly frantic worrying about leaving his phone out in the open. He should have deleted the texts from Charlie before hopping in the shower. Though, Cas wasn’t one to go snooping through his things. He may have difficulties trusting people, but he never went looking for reasons to validate those feelings. If anything, he acted a little _too_ trusting, which was maybe part of the problem.

Dean poked his head out around the shower door anyway and called out.

“Hey, get in here,” he said, meeting Cas’s eyes in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, “Who cares if your cast gets wet now, right? I’m tired of showering alone.”

Castiel very deliberately finished with his teeth and then stepped over to where Dean was waiting with the shower door open. He placed a kiss on Dean’s lips and ran the cast hand through his hair again.

“I’m sure you can wait one more day, Huggy Bear,” Castiel told him cheekily. He pressed up against Dean, not caring that his PJs were getting wet, and kissed him again. “Now, stop wasting the water and hurry up,” he said, “My appointment is in an hour.”

Dean rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the grin that stretched automatically across his face. He retreated back into the shower to do just that.

* * *

The hospital was busy for it being a holiday. Now that the weather was colder, flu season was in full swing and a number of dripping, feverish patients were already crowding the waiting room when they arrived. The receptionist pushed her thick, large-framed glasses further up on her nose when she informed them the doctor was running behind.

Castiel’s eyes flickered to Dean.

“You don’t need to wait with me,” he said, “I know you mentioned you had things to do this morning.”

Dean shrugged, feeling the nervous excitement that had been bubbling under his skin since he had remembered today’s errand at the breakfast table flop over in his stomach. Sure, he had things to do—important things—but he wasn’t about to abandon Cas to do them, not when the man was worrying as much as he was about his first official day as a music teacher.

So, Dean shrugged and replied, “It can wait,” and laced his fingers through Castiel’s.

He did, however, have an idea. He asked the receptionist about it when Cas ran to the restroom (too much coffee, or perhaps it was the nerves) and she was more than helpful, chattering on about their options and finally handing him a brochure. When Cas came back from the bathroom, Dean had already read it front to back.

“Hey,” he said, smiling as Cas sat down next to him and immediately gripped his hand tightly. Definitely nerves then. “How ya holding up?”

“I will ‘survive’, as the saying goes,” Castiel said dryly, letting out huff of air through his nose. He looked at Dean, who was angled toward him in anticipation. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Dean said quickly. He winced when Castiel pinned him with a look that said he wasn’t fooling anyone, then showed Castiel the flyer. “Ok, not nothin’. I talked to the receptionist while you hit the head.”

Castiel took the brochure from him with his free hand and read the title out loud.

“Planned parenthood… Dean, what is this for?” he asked.

“I thought…” Dean licked his lips, nervous himself all of a sudden. “Uh…I was just thinking about this morning and how nice it would’ve been not to have to…y’know, _interrupt_ things just to grab a condom,” he said.

“You are suggesting we get tested so that we may have unprotected sex,” Castiel clarified, his voice strangely flat. He was silent for a long moment, blinking down at the flyer.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dean said quickly, “I mean, I’m good either way. It was just a thought.”

“No, I want to,” Castiel rushed in to say, “You just…surprised me.”

The corners of Castiel’s lips suddenly turned upward in that secret smile of his. He fidgeted with the edge of the flyer, bending the corner of it one way, then the other. The smile grew, slowly, the longer he went without saying anything. Dean held his breath, his heart pounding against his chest as he waited impatiently for Cas to respond.

“It _would_ be nice to be intimate like that,” Castiel said finally in a low rumble. He looked up to meet Dean’s eyes. “How soon can we make an appointment?” he asked.

“The receptionist said there was a cancellation this morning,” Dean told him, “So we could do it in like…five minutes, or there’s an appointment next Tuesday.”

Castiel’s eyebrows raised at that. He looked down to the flyer again, taking a moment to really think about it. He was nervous—of course he was—but it wasn’t about Dean. It was about making yet another step toward the future. _Their_ future. _Together_. It was something Castiel wanted with all his heart, he was just terrifying of losing it somehow.

“I know it’s a lot all at once,” Dean said, breaking into his thoughts, “And we could wait, but I don’t really want to.” He flashed Cas a weak smile. “I mean, you’re it for me, Cas. I’ve known that for a while now. Seems silly to put it off.”

Dean bit off the end of that sentence realizing he wasn’t talking about the test any longer.

He was talking about something a hell of a lot bigger than that.

Dean really hoped Castiel wouldn’t notice, because if he did, his deflection was going to be a bad one-liner about how he was losing his cast kink today, and that was guaranteed to piss Cas off. Thankfully, Cas didn’t say anything, just stared at Dean with this perplexed look on his face.

Castiel was deep in thought, as it turned out, and on a completely different subject. He was trying to understand how Dean could be so sure of them when Castiel hesitated even at a time like this, when the benefits were many and the consequences were so infinitesimal that it made no sense to consider them at all. But, that wasn’t why Castiel was hesitating. It had everything to do with trust, and not just trust in Dean, but trust in _himself_ —that he was making the right decisions, and moving in the right direction.

When had he become so afraid of living?

He didn’t want his life dictated by fear, Castiel decided. That wasn’t the kind of life he wanted to lead. He wanted _more_.

Starting with more of Dean.

“You make a very good point. There _is_ no good reason to wait,” Castiel said in a low rumble. He looked up at Dean. “We had better let the receptionist know we mean to keep that appointment.”

The smile Dean flashed him at that was entirely worth it.

* * *

The Planned Parenting office was two floors down and a couple waiting rooms over from where they were. The appointment took probably fifteen minutes for the both of them. They were in and out before the doctor upstairs had even moved up his list.

They would get the results in a couple of weeks, just in time for Dean’s birthday.

After another half hour of waiting, they were finally called into the exam room. Dean was surprised to find a familiar face enter the room almost as soon as the assistant left them alone. Dean had leaned in for an extended kiss, and the couple jumped apart when the door opened.

Tessa, the nurse who had helped Cas before when he was recovering from the accident, smiled at the two of them.

“And how are you boys today?” she asked warmly, putting her clipboard down on the counter.

“We’re good,” Castiel replied, eyes flickering to Dean, who smiled back at him.

Tessa washed her hands in the sink and put on a fresh pair of gloves, then moved back over to where Castiel was waiting on the exam table.

“Just good?” she asked. Her eyes flickered to Dean, teasing, since he hadn’t answered.

“We’re awesome,” he told her.

“It certainly seems so. How's the arm?” she asked Castiel. She lifted up the cast and examined Castiel’s arm from the elbow down to where the cast ended halfway up his forearm.

“Other than itchy at times, it’s fine. Will this hurt?” Castiel asked her. He seemed nervous again, and squirmed on the exam table under her clinical scrutiny.

“Not at all. You’ll barely feel it,” Tessa said, sounding amused, “But maybe Dean here will hold your hand anyway.”

“Hey, if you thought I was gonna say no, you’re outta luck, sweetheart,” Dean told her pointedly before reaching over to do just that.

Tessa took Castiel’s blood pressure and then pulled out a number of items from the cupboards above the sink that Dean assumed were for removing the cast.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” Tessa told them before exiting the room.

She returned a few minutes later with the doctor, who, when Dean saw him upon entering, squeezed Castiel’s hand so hard he nearly broke _that_ one too.

The doctor looked up from his clipboard through long, dark, and silky smooth hair, and smiled a charming, whiter-than-a-toothpaste-ad smile at them. A cross between a whimper and a gurgle escaped Dean’s lips. He clenched down on his jaw and nearly bit off his tongue to suppress anything else coming out.

“Good morning… Castiel?” The doctor had a light accent, something Asian mixed with Latino, if Castiel wasn’t mistaken. “I’m Dr. Roberts.” He held out his hand to shake.

Castiel heard Dean exhale a sigh of relieve next to him and mutter a, _“Thank God,”_ under his breath.

“Is this your first time getting a cast taken off?” the doctor asked him. Castiel nodded, so the doctor explained it for him, holding up a large saw. “It looks scary, but I assure you, it won’t even cut through the cotton.”

“Wait,” Dean blurted out, “How the hell does that even work?”

Dr. Roberts smiled at him, and Dean felt his toes curl. Castiel shot him a look, narrowing his eyes as he did. He could tell Dean had a thing for the doc. It was pretty obvious, and Castiel could hardly blame him. The man’s resemblance to one _Dr. Sexy, MD_ was strikingly apparent. The only thing he was missing was the cowboy boots.

“It uses vibrations to cut through the plaster,” the doctor explained, “Then I use regular scissors to cut through the cotton.”

“So like…” Dean slowly licked his lips and shifted his eyes quickly to Cas. “Could he like… keep it?”

“Yes, of course,” the doctor said, “A lot of patients take their casts home as souvenirs. Most of the time it has writing on it, however. I assumed you wouldn’t be interested since yours isn’t signed.”

“Oh.” Castiel looked down at his arm with a frown. “It never even occurred to me.”

Dean could tell he was disappointed and squeezed the hand he was holding.

“Hey doc, you got a marker?” Dean asked, “We’ll make this official.”

Dr. Roberts lifted his chin in a silent request to Tessa, who smiled and nodded.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

It took a few minutes for Tessa to run out and find a marker but eventually she wandered back in, wearing an amused expression as she did.

“The hell are you so smiley about?” Dean asked her. He was having a hard time figuring out if the woman liked him or was perhaps secretly plotting his murder.

“Oh nothing,” she replied, holding out the Sharpie, “Becky says hi by the way.”

“Who?” Dean repeated, clueless.

“The receptionist. You know, the one who gave you boys the directions downstairs?” Tessa smiled, a gleam of something unnerving in her eyes. “You realize what comes after the Stud Test, right Dean?” she asked him, “Think you’re up for it?”

Dean grabbed the marker from her and blushed furiously. “Shut up, it’s—” he started to say ‘ _It’s too soon for that,’_ but then he remembered what he was doing later—oh, right—and he stopped.

Tessa’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. Dean’s eyes grew impossibly wide. He shook his head fervently, then froze when Castiel looked to him in question.

“I don’t understand. What comes next?” Castiel asked, glancing between the two of them in confusion. When neither Dean nor Tessa answered, he huffed and said, “If you are implying that the next step is that we move in together, then you should know we have already taken that step. I suppose the next logical step would be…” He trailed off and went a little pink in the cheeks, as it finally hit him what Tessa had been alluding to. But no, Dean couldn’t be thinking about that. It was far too soon to be making… _that_ kind of a commitment.

Castiel’s eyes flickered to Dean, but the man was doing a stellar job of not giving anything away on his face.

“Well then, I stand corrected,” Tessa said. She crossed her arms and with a smug smile, turned to Dean and said, “Well, Dean. Aren’t you going to sign your _boyfriend’s_ cast?”

There was just the slightest emphasis on the ‘b’ word, aimed directly at him. Dean cleared his throat loudly and scrambled the cap off the Sharpie.

“Yeah, sure. Just let me…”

With the pink tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth, Dean leaned over Castiel’s forearm and touched the marker to the dirty, off-white cotton of his cast. Then, slowly, he started to write.

“Shit,” he cursed shortly into it. His eyes flickered up to meet Cas’s, briefly. “’S harder than it looks,” he grumbled, focusing down again. He brought his other hand up to shield what he was writing and said, “Don’t look, I want it to be a surprise.”

Castiel let out an exasperated sigh, and Dean was _sure_ he rolled his eyes, though he was far too involved in what he was doing to look up. He knew that Castiel would oblige him though—that was just the kind of person he was.

“Ok, almost done,” Dean said after a few minutes. He straightened, and with a flourish recapped the marker. “ _Voila_!”

Castiel turned his arm around as best as he could and read aloud, “ _Cas, You’ll always be my ~~kink~~ Ducky. Love you! Dean xoxo._”

There was a small picture of a duck next to Dean’s nickname for him, and what looked to be a poorly drawn _feather duster_ next to where he had crossed out the word ‘ _kink_.’ Finally, a couple hearts and what looked to be a kissy-face emoji was drawn next to the x’s and o’s at the end. Castiel felt the blush rise heavily to his face.

“Well. It… Ah…I supposed I should be grateful I didn’t have you sign this sooner,” Cas said, “That is not something I would want to walk around with in public.”

A goofy smile spread across Dean’s face.

“You could’ve covered it up,” he said with a half-shrug, “Hang on, I just had an idea.” Dean grabbed Cas’s wrist and flicked the cap off the Sharpie with his thumb as he pulled the man’s arm in toward him again. He worked for another minute or so, and when he pulled back, the cast now had an additional message underneath the first.

_‘P.S. Can’t wait to ride off into the sunset with you. Yee Haw!’_

There was a cowboy hat over the Y of the _‘Yee’_ and a pair of cowboy boots after the exclamation point.

“I…” Castiel just looked at him, speechless. What Dean was implying, it was…it _couldn’t_ be… could it?

“I was thinkin’ like, Aruba?” Dean said brightly, breaking into his thoughts and grinning like a fool, “Two weeks, ‘round my birthday. We can rent a cottage on the beach, ride horses next to the sea while the sun sets. That kind of shit.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, blinking away the moisture that rose suddenly to his eyes and saying breathily, “Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, and kissed him.

He couldn’t be sure, but Dean thought he saw Tessa whispering something to Dr. Roberts off in his peripheral.

“Are you ready?” Dr. Roberts asked once they pulled apart. Castiel nodded and Dean moved back, taking Cas’s hand again as the doctor stepped forward with the saw. Chocolate brown eyes looked down at Castiel as the doctor took his arm and said, “This will be loud. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

“Not unless I ask you to, of course,” Castiel blurted out.

Oh, shit.

Castiel’s gaze shot to Dean, who’s eyes had widened considerably. He seemed to be holding back laughter. Damn him. He was a terrible influence, and Castiel was clearly picking up on his bad habits.

Doctor Roberts blinked at him and then smirked a little.

“Well, no, I suppose not,” the doctor said, and then, as though to get back at him for the inappropriate comment, he lifted the saw Jason-style and turned it on.

Of course it didn’t hurt and the cast popped right off, and the whole thing took less than a minute. Castiel watched, fascinated, as the doctor plied the thing off of him with large pair of medical pliers and then opened the cast like a hinge on one side.

“You see?” Dr. Roberts said, holding up the cast for Dean. He opened and closed it a couple times.

“You get to keep your kink,” Castiel noted, turning to Dean and gesturing to the cast.

A startled noise came out of Dr. Robert’s mouth. Tessa sounded like she swallowed a snort. Dean’s eyes shot between them, horrified.

“That’s—” Dean flushed bright red down past what was visible from his neckline. “That’s not what it sounds like!” he blurted out, which of course made it sound like _exactly_ what it was.

The room grew so quite you could hear a tumbleweed pass by.

Tessa was the one to break it. She turned to Castiel and said, “Perhaps you should get him some scrubs for his birthday.” She grinned, “Maybe a box of medical masks?”

Dean stared at Tessa blankly, mouth gaping open.

“That is not—why would you even—you know what? _No._ " When he finally decided on a sentence, Dean pointed a finger at the smirking nurse, “That’s _not_ funny.” 

“So maybe not that,” Tessa reconsidered, turning back to Castiel. She leaned in and whispered in his ear so that Dean couldn’t hear her, “Try a cowboy hat. Maybe some boots.”

“Ahh…” Castiel replied eloquently a beat later, “Yes, good… Good idea. Thank you.”

“What? What did she say?” Dean pressed, but Castiel shook his head and refused to say. Dean glared at Tessa, deciding that she fell more on the _plotting his death_ side of things.

Thankfully, Dr. Roberts seemed just as eager to leave as they were after _that_ conversation. He gave Castiel a piece of paper with instructions on how to care for his arm post-cast, and another pamphlet with specific therapeutic exercises and left for his next patient. They were told to make a follow-up appointment in one month, which Becky, the receptionist, could help them with.

Tessa had Castiel wash his arm in the sink good with soap and water and asked if he had any questions.

“No, thank you,” Castiel answered her as he patted his arm dry. He rolled his sleeve down carefully and turned his hand over, studying it. “It feels very strange,” he commented.

Dean held out his coat for him and he slipped into it, noting the new sensation of no longer getting the cast caught in the sleeve. There were a few other things he was eager to try as well.

Dean must have been thinking along the same lines, because he smirked a little when he folded the pamphlet of hand exercises in half and slipped it into the bag with Cas’s cast in it.

“Ready?” he asked Cas, who nodded and turned for the door.

Right before they left, Tessa grabbed Dean by the arm and whispered in his ear.

“Send me an invitation.”

* * *

Dean walked Castiel into work like he used to do for Sammy when it was his first day of school, the only difference being the hand he had pressed into the small of Cas’s back. Castiel was nervous and jittery once they were inside, and fidgeted with the strap to his new messenger bag. It was stuffed full of sheet music that Castiel had collected over the years, including a few new additions that Dean had gotten him over Christmas for this very occasion. They stopped outside of Marlene’s office, Castiel eyeing the doorknob as though it might bite off his newly un-casted hand.

“Relax, you’ll do fine,” Dean told him when he hesitated. He brushed a thumb over Castiel’s cheeks and placed a lingering kiss on his lips. “I’ll see you at Taco-O’clock.”

Castiel hummed in amusement and nodded. He bit his bottom lip and worried it between his teeth as he turned for the door.

Dean rolled his eyes and muttered a, “Oh, for the love of—” before going ahead and knocking on it for him.

Castiel glared at him when he swooped in for one last goodbye peck, but Dean was down the hall and the door was opening before he could issue a complaint. Castiel closed his mouth with a sigh and took a deep breath before turning to Marlene, who now stood in the doorway to her office with a confused look on her face.

“Is…something the matter?” she asked.

Castiel shifted the messenger bag’s strap further up on his shoulder.

“No, it’s nothing,” Castiel said, continuing quickly, “Good morning, Marlene. I apologize for being late on my first day. The hospital was running behind this morning.” He was relieved when his voice came out smoothly despite the waver he could feel scratching up his throat.

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Marlene replied, “I know for a fact that you would rather have been here, teaching.” She smiled at him, and Castiel beamed back at her.

“I don’t know,” he said in jest, “You didn’t see the doctor.”

“Oh?” Marlene crossed her arms and leaned in a little. “Do tell.”

“Well, Dean thought he was very attractive. I must admit his resemblance to the actor who plays Dr. Sexy _is_ rather remarkable.”

“And what about you?” Marlene asked him.

Castiel looked down and blushed a little, suddenly feeling shy at the memory of what he’d said.

“We… _both_ may have made complete and utter fools of each other,” he replied bashfully.

“Well, you seem to have survived,” Marlene said with a chuckle. She waved him into her office, which was much too warm inside, per usual. “How are you this morning, Castiel?” Marlene asked.

“I am good, thank you.” Castiel held up his hand. “Since I am, ahh… quite literally all hands on deck now, I would say that speaks for itself.”

Marlene laughed outright this time and covered her mouth, and Castiel grinned widely at his own joke. His nerves were already quickly melting away in favor of an excited anticipation, so he was a little disappointed at the next thing Marlene said.

“Here, sit down. I’ve got some forms for you to fill out.”

Castiel did as she asked and dropped into the seat across from her, leaning his messenger bag against his chair and grabbing a pen from the mug on her desk.

After a frankly ludicrous amount of paperwork, Marlene showed Castiel to his new office—a small, newly renovated storage room that had been converted over the holidays for this very purpose. Castiel couldn’t believe it when she showed it to him. He expected he would continue to use the meeting room that he had been utilizing the past month. It never even occurred to him to have his own space. This meant he had _two_ music studios now, where only a few short months ago he’d had nothing more than a shoebox-sized apartment and his Italian neighbor who would yell at him from across the hall for singing too loudly.

It was, frankly, a dream come true.

“Marlene, thank you. I… I don’t know what to say…” Castiel said. He surveyed the room in awe as he played with the strap to his music bag.

Marlene patted him on the shoulder.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to set up and then I’ll send in your first student,” she said, and with another friendly pat, she left him to his thoughts.

The first thing Castiel did was take off his coat and turn down the heat. He spent a few minutes going through the music he had brought with him, deciding which books and pieces he wanted to store here rather than at his studio at home. _‘I should get some teaching books,’_ he thought, suddenly realizing he didn’t own a single one.

He pulled out his phone to make a list of other things he would need to get, and was immediately distracted by the text Dean had just sent him.

_‘Quit freaking out and breathe! You got this!’_ and a heart emoji. And a kissy face. Cas sent him back a text (a worried squinty face and then a more peaceful one) and then, with a flash of inspiration, he snapped a picture of his new office and sent that as well.

_‘AWESOME!’_ Dean texted him back, _‘I can’t wait to see it later, in person.’_

_‘Me too_ ,’ Castiel texted him back. He added a kissy face as an afterthought and stowed the phone, leaning against the desk as he ran his eyes over the small studio. The piano from the auditorium had been moved here for his use. Besides this, there was a moderately-sized bookshelf, an area rug, and his desk. A couple inspirational posters had been tacked to the wall, and Castiel thought it was a nice touch on Marlene’s part, but that he might change them to be quotes of famous musicians once he settled in more.

Speaking of, it was time for his first student.

* * *

Castiel was so busy for the rest of the day that he barely registered the hours flying by. A light rap sounded on the door during his last lesson, and when Castiel glanced at the clock, he was surprised to find it was already after five o’clock.

“Got a hot date?” Claire asked sarcastically from the piano seat.

“Yes. I mean, no,” Castiel replied, distracted. He nodded to the book propped up in front of her on the piano. “Practice that section one more time and then you may go. Watch your tempo. It was a little fast.”

Claire rolled her eyes at him, but for once did as she was asked. Castiel smirked a little to himself. Claire had been less difficult today for whatever reason. Either he was finally getting through to her, or she was taking it easy on him given that it was his official first day. Neither seemed very likely, so perhaps she was instead secretly plotting behind his back and had set a trap for him later. Yes, that seemed more likely. He should check his office carefully tomorrow morning.

Castiel opened the door to find Dean waiting with his hand raised, ready to knock again.

“Hey,” his boyfriend greeted, smiling warmly and lowering his fist, “Sorry to interrupt, but Jack just texted sayin’ he’s on his way over to the loft.”

Behind them, the piano music continued. Castiel gestured for Dean to be quiet and ushered him in with a whisper of, “I’ll only be another minute.” He offered for Dean to take his chair while he waited, but the man waved the suggestion aside and instead opted to lean up next to him against the desk. He looked around the office with a soft smile on his face, catching Castiel’s eyes with a look that said he was clearly happy for him.

Claire finished her piece and turned around after closing the piano cover and shutting the music book.

“You must be the boyfriend,” she said by way of greeting, “It’s _Dean_ , right?” She looked him up and down, scoffing a little. “Huh. Guess you’re for real. Kinda started to think Castiel was making you up.”

“And you must be Claire, the music prodigy,” Dean greeted, smirking at her. If she was surprised to find that her reputation proceeded her, then she didn’t show it. Instead, Dean received an exaggerated eye roll. He ignored it and turned to Cas. “You about ready there, Ducky?” he asked. He heard Claire snort at the nickname, but ignored that too.

Castiel nodded.

“Yes, just let me collect my things.” He grabbed his bag and slipped into his coat when Dean held it up for him. Claire watched with wide eyes and then looked away swiftly when Dean lifted an eyebrow in silent question when he caught her staring. She shifted on her feet, seeming uncomfortable by the openly domestic gesture. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your cruddy family dinner,” Claire mumbled. She grabbed her hoodie from where it was balled up on the end of the piano bench and turned to leave.

Castiel shared a meaningful look with Dean, who raised his eyebrows as if to say, _“Are you sure?”_ Castiel nodded and turned back to his student.

“Claire… would you like to join us?”

Claire stopped with her hand on the door knob and seemed genuinely taken aback.

“What?” she blurted. A slight smirk found its way onto her face. She said cynically, “You’re joking, right?”

“You’ve known Cas for how long? He doesn’t usually joke about this kind of stuff,” Dean pointed out, “What’ya say, kiddo? It’s fish taco night.”

Claire stared at him for a beat, then looked to Castiel. She shrugged.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, quickly adding, “But _only_ because it’s tuna surprise tonight, and the surprise is _never_ good,” while pointing her finger at him.

Castiel merely smiled at her and replied, “Well, they are _fish_ tacos, but I guarantee any ‘surprise’ will be a good one. Dean is a very good cook.”

Claire shrugged on her sweatshirt and muttered, “Doof,” but she seemed genuinely pleased for the invite as she followed the couple down the hall.

Castiel detoured by Marlene’s office before leaving for the day while Dean went with Claire to sign her out. The door was ajar, so he rapped lightly on it.

“Marlene? I’m heading out,” Castiel said.

Marlene turned around in her chair and smiled brightly at him.

“Very good. Have a nice night, Castiel,” she said, “Congratulations on completing your first day.”

“Thank you,” Cas replied. He hesitated only briefly before saying, “Claire is joining us for dinner…I hope that is okay.”

Marlene blinked at him, clearly taken by surprise.

“You’re joking. She actually agreed to that?” Marlene blurted out.

Castiel nodded.

“She doesn’t like tuna surprise,” he provided.

The grin on Marlene’s face twisted up on one side.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s the _only_ reason,” she said cryptically, but before Castiel could ask what she meant, she said, “Yes, that’s fine. A bit unorthodox, but there aren’t any rules _against_ it. She needs to be back here for curfew, though. I trust you’ll get her back in time?”

“Y-yes, of course,” Castiel promised. He smiled brightly at her. “Thank you, Marlene. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, dear,” the older woman replied. As Castiel was turning to leave, she said, “You know, one of these days you’ll have to introduce me to this wonderful boyfriend of yours.”

Castiel blushed deeply and stuttered out, “P-perhaps the next time he picks me up from work?”

Marlene smirked and nodded at him.

“I plan on holding you to that,” she said. She jerked her head toward the door. “Now go on—I wouldn’t leave your beau and _Claire_ alone for too long.” 

Castiel chuckled at that, nodded, and turned to leave.

Claire was scowling next to Dean in the entryway to the Group Home when he arrived downstairs. He slipped an arm around Dean’s waist and leaned in for a hello kiss, once it occurred to him that they had forgotten their usual greeting.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said when he pulled back.

Dean smiled dreamily at him and said in an undertone, “Don’t worry about it. With a hello like that, I’ll wait ‘long as it takes.”

Beside them, Claire made a disgusted sound.

“Ugh, you’re not one of _those_ couples, are you?” she complained, “Can we go already?”

Dean’s smile twisted into a wicked smirk as he stepped out of Castiel’s one-armed embrace. He nudged Claire on the arm.

“Come on, then, Short Stack, let’s roll.”

Claire shot him a look that told him she _was not_ amused by the nickname and rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, I’m hungry.” She glared and pointed her finger at the two of them. “If I lose my appetite because of how sickeningly sappy you two are, you _will_ regret it,” she warned.

Dean chuckled and placed a hand on Castiel’s back, leading him forward toward the doors that Claire practically stormed through.

“Don’t even think about it, Dean,” Castiel told him, shooting the other man a look, “She will take it out on me for the rest of the week.”

“What? I didn’t say anything!” Dean insisted.

“You were scheming again. I can tell,” Castiel said shortly.

“ _Damn._ Is nothing sacred?” Dean said as they strode toward the car.

Claire scoffed when she saw the sleek black sedan waiting out front for them.

“Really? Tinted windows?” she commented snidely, “What, did you rob P. Diddy on the way over?”

“Company car,” Dean explained, holding the door open for her, “Comes with the territory.”

Claire blinked and seemed genuinely surprised.

“Wait. You’re loaded?” She turned to Castiel and smirked, barely missing a beat. “I thought you said he was your _boyfriend_ , not your sugar daddy.”

Castiel looked to the heavens with a long-suffering sigh.

“This is precisely why I didn’t say anything,” he mumbled, getting in behind her.

* * *

It was an awkward ride back to the loft. Claire kept needling Dean with inane questions like, could he buy a yacht if he wanted to, (“Yes.”) or a jet plane (“No.”). Thankfully, it was a short drive.

Jack was waiting for them at the breakfast bar when they arrived home. He scrambled off the stool when he heard the door open, smiling and bouncing excitedly on his feet.

“Dean! Castiel, how was your first day?”

“Hey there, Bean Sprout,” Dean greeted the kid, drawing him into a hug. “I’m sure Cas will tell you all about it, later. How was _your_ first day?”

“It was awesome!” Jack replied, clearly excited, “Anna showed me the ropes.” He turned to Cas. “She says hi, by the way, and that you had better not forget about her now that you no longer work together.”

Castiel pulled the boy into a tight hug as well.

“Tell her I would never dream of it,” he said. He turned to Claire. “Jack, this is Claire. She’s one of my music students.”

“Claire. It’s nice to meet you,” Jack said brightly, sticking out his hand.

“Yeah…same,” Claire said. She uncrossed her arms for a moment and shook the hand held out to her limply.

“Uncle Cas talks about you a lot, you know,” Jack continued, smiling at her, “He says you can play the piano really well. Will you play something for us later?”

“Uh…w-why would I want to do that?” Claire replied snidely. She frowned and dropped Jack’s hand, sliding her eyes over to Castiel. “You _talk_ about me?”

“Well, mostly he complains,” Jack told her, “but he always compliments your musical talent in the same breath, so I’m not sure it counts.”

“Great,” Claire bit out, rolling her eyes. “Well, ‘Uncle Cas’ can go _shove it_.”

She stormed off into the apartment toward the living room, her arms hugging her middle.

“Claire!” Castiel yelled after her, to no avail. She was already around the corner and in the other room. He heaved a heavy sigh. “Jack, that wasn’t exactly helpful,” he reprimanded lightly. He knew Jack didn’t do it on purpose, but sometimes the kid had a tendency to be brutally honest at times where it may or may not exactly be appropriate. Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling already the headache rising from the thought of going and speaking with Claire. He turned to Dean. “Perhaps you had better start on dinner. This could take a while.”

With that, Castiel strode after the moody teenager.

He found Claire in his music studio, sitting down at the piano. She was toying with the same low key over and over in a relentless, droning loop.

Castiel bit back a frustrated sigh and knocked lightly on the open door.

“Claire? May I come in?” Castiel asked.

Claire shrugged, but didn’t look up, nor did she pause in her repetitious playing.

“It’s _your_ place, ain’t it?” she sneered, “You and _Dean’s_. ‘Cept, I doubt you pay a penny of it, right?” She drew her shoulders in tighter around herself and jammed the piano key harder. “Must be nice, getting everything handed to you like that.”

Castiel ignored the jibe and went straight for an apology.

“Claire, you’re one of my most gifted students. Of course I talk about you,” Castiel told her.

“Yeah, not really what I’m pissed about,” Claire said bluntly.

“Yes, I am aware,” Castiel replied, “And for that, I apologize. It…frustrates me that you don’t take your own talent seriously. That doesn’t excuse my complaining about it behind your back, but I hope you can at least understand where I am coming from.”

“Sure,” Claire said flatly, shrugging. The repetitious key-blaring continued.

Castiel sighed, feeling like he was merely spinning his wheels and getting nowhere with her. Again.

“Claire, please. Listen to me,” Castiel said, kneeling down beside her. She glared at him but otherwise stopped droning on with the piano key and waited patiently for him to continue. “What you see here—this apartment, this _studio_ —this has been my life for only a few very _short_ months. Before that—before I broke my wrist—I worked at The Plaza as Jack is now, as a bellboy. I also worked part-time at the opera house as an usher in the evenings. I lived in a tiny apartment and I saved as much as I could so that I could pay my own way through college because I wished for something better. And then I met Dean, and—and my entire life changed.”

“So what, you’re saying I should wait around for some rich sugar daddy to swoop in and save me like a Disney Princess, is _that_ what you’re telling me?” Claire said bitingly.

Castiel sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping.

“My point is that I _didn’t_ wait,” he continued, “I was already doing everything I could to succeed in life _before_ I met Dean. The only reason I quit my job is because I would have been a fool to decline his offer.”

“So basically your life would have been a lot crappier if you hadn’t met him. Yeah, okay. I get it. Can we move on already?”

“I'm not finished,” Castiel told her. “Claire, the only thing Dean did for me was remove the obstacles I thought were in the way of achieving my dream. I could have pursued music at any time—what held me back was the pressure of succeeding at it.” Castiel paused and looked down at the piano, at the smooth mahogany finish of the wood. “And yet, I never would have realized that if I wasn’t standing on the other side of it today.” He paused. “Not very many people know this, but Dean and I…we almost didn’t get together. I liked him, but because I have been hurt in the past, I almost turned him away. Had I done that… I am sure it would have become the greatest regret of my life.” 

He looked up at the young woman in front of him, wishing she could see what he saw when he looked at her.

“So, my _point_ is, you should of course have a practical plan for the future, but you also shouldn’t give up on your dreams just because you are afraid of failing at them.” Castiel smiled wanly at her. “If I have learned anything in the past few months, it is that your dreams certainly don’t give up on you.”

Claire stared at him, and for a moment the hard mask of anger on her face shattered. Her eyes filled with tears, and Castiel could see clearly the lonely, sad little girl underneath the strong young woman that she had grown into. Then, suddenly, the mask was back and she looked away.

“Hmph. Like you have any idea how I feel,” Claire bit at him in response, sniffing.

Castiel smiled gently at her.

“No, of course not,” he said, “How silly of me.”

Claire harrumphed and refused to look at him, but Castiel could swear he saw a bit of a blush to her cheeks.

“Doof,” she mumbled at him, shoving him lightly. She got up and while she was still turned away from him, quickly wiped her eyes dry. “Well, are we eating sometime tonight, or what?” she asked when she faced him again.

Castiel's smile grew as he rose to his feet.

“I think Dean had something planned for an appetizer,” he said.

Sure enough, there was virgin margaritas in a pitcher for the under-aged and regular margaritas in a separately marked pitcher for the adults. Dean had done the whole salt-around-the-rim and lime garnish on the side as well. Jack was perched at the breakfast bar already digging into the guacamole and chips Dean had just set down.

“Hey! You guys are just in time,” Dean called out as they entered the kitchen, gesturing to the dip, “It’s Guac O’clock!”

Claire made a big show of rolling her eyes at the bad joke. Castiel chuckled, and Jack laughed gleefully, clearly finding it funny. Dean just looked rather pleased with himself. He turned to Jack.

“Hey kiddo, help Cas move this party into the dining room while I get dinner started, ‘k?” he said.

Jack stuffed what was left of his guacamole-loaded tortilla chip into his mouth and answered with a muffled, “Okay!” before picking up the platter and doing just that.

Castiel reached for the glasses and blinked at the strange sensation of having full use of his hand again.

“You okay there, grandpa?” Claire asked him, nudging at him with her elbow as she grabbed the pitcher. Castiel nodded.

“Yes. Just… I am so used to wearing the cast. This feels strange.”

He picked up the glasses and nodded Claire toward the dining room. Claire followed behind him, setting the pitcher down with a frown.

“You want like…help cooking or whatever?” she asked awkwardly, fiddling with the handle to the pitcher instead of looking up.

“No, but thank you. I believe Dean and I have things under control,” Castiel replied. He smiled at her, then turned to Jack. “There are some games in the living room if you two get bored. Dinner should be ready in about half an hour.”

“That’s enough time to play Battleship!” Jack exclaimed, shooting to his feet, “I’ll go get it.”

Claire smirked a little to herself. “Betcha twenty bucks he doesn’t find a single ship in half an hour,” she muttered to herself.

Castiel heard and frowned at her. He pointed a finger sternly in her face.

“No cheating,” he said poignantly, and strode back to the kitchen to help Dean.

Claire’s smirk merely grew as soon as he turned his back.

“It’s not _technically_ cheating if all the ships are on the board,” she said once he was out of earshot.

Twenty minutes later, Jack still hadn’t found a single one of her battleships. His were sinking fast, and he was just a few moves behind losing. He was clearly getting frustrated, but was doing an exemplary job of playing the ‘good sport’. It was kind of pissing Claire off, actually. She was rather disappointed he hadn’t said anything yet. She had expected _something_ from him by now, but…no. Nothing. The kid just kept…plugging along, turn after turn, trying his best to find and sink her battleships.

“Aren’t you gonna like, ask me what’s going on?” Claire finally blurted at him. She was getting frustrated herself, damnit. Really, if the kid would just _say something_ , she would’ve told him and spared him the trouble.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?” Jack asked her, clearly confused.

“I mean, don’t you think it’s kind of weird that you haven’t found any of my battleships?” Claire asked, waving her hands over her board. Jack thought about that for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly.

“I did think it odd at first,” he confessed with a small shrug, “But then I remembered something that Castiel told me. He said that when you expect the best in someone, it gives them the space they need to really shine. So when I remembered that, I thought…perhaps you are just very good at this game. And in that case…I am very lucky to be playing against you, because I am going to learn a lot from someone with your level of strategy.”

Claire gaped at Jack, mouth hanging open, eyes wide—the whole shebang. She couldn’t believe this shit. Did this whole damn family live with their heads permanently stuck in the clouds? Who did these sappy, positive-vibe _bullshiters_ think they were fooling?

The anger in her rose full-force as she stared at Jack, who merely raised his eyebrows and peered patiently back at her. It kind of made her want to lash out at him and punch him in that stupid, baby face of his, and her fist came up just thinking about it.

But… no one had ever given her the benefit of the doubt like that since her mother left, and… well, she didn’t want to be the one to pop whatever over-the-rainbow, fairy-tale bubble this kid lived in.

She lowered her fist.

“I stacked them,” Claire confessed, gesturing again at her play board, “The ships. I stacked them all on top of the two ship.”

“What?” Jack blurted, brow furrowing in confusion, “Is that even possible?”

Claire turned her board around to show him, and waved guiltily at her tower of balanced battleships.

“See?” Claire said, “I mean, I guess technically they’re all still on the board, just…y’know, it’s a gray area. So it’s like, _kind of_ cheating, but in the end… yeah, guess it’s still cheating, huh?”

Jack just smiled at her and gathered up his pieces.

“Would you like to play again?” he asked her.

Claire scowled at him for a long moment, then wordlessly deconstructed her tower of battleships and gave Jack a curt nod.

She made it halfway through their next game before she got bored. She was winning again, but only because she had noticed in their last game that Jack had a tendency to choose numbers from the middle of the board and forget the borders completely. So, naturally, she had placed all of her ships along the perimeter this time. When another turn passed with her getting yet _another_ hit and Jack another miss, she pushed to her feet and started riffling through the cabinets.

“It’s your turn,” Jack informed her. He twisted around in his seat and watched her for a second before asking, “What are you doing?” 

“I’m looking for the tequila, what do you _think_?” Claire answered him. She tried another cabinet and frowned. No good. Nothing but large serving plates and paper goods. She tried the last cabinet. Nothing. “ _Damn._ They must keep it in the kitchen.”

Claire eyed the decanter of whiskey sitting on the corner of the hutch. Despite hating the taste, it was still alcohol. Jack followed her gaze and then turned back to frown severely at her.

“I _will_ say something,” Jack told her.

Claire let out an aggravated sigh and rolled her eyes.

“ _You’re_ no fun, jeez,” she grumbled.

She crept to the doorway and peeked into the kitchen. Inside, Dean and Cas were at the stove preparing dinner. Claire felt Jack come up behind her and glanced over her shoulder long enough to catch the dreamy smile on his face. Then she turned back and watched Dean and Castiel as they cooked. It seemed the couple couldn’t go more than a minute without sharing some small, intimate touch. Dean kept staring at the back of Castiel’s head when the man wasn’t looking with a goofy smile plastered across his face. The doe-eyes he kept giving his boyfriend whenever Cas looked up at him and smiled was enough to make Claire gag.

Beside her, she heard Jack let out a happy sigh.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he said to Claire. 

“What? Romeo and Romeo?” Claire grumbled, heavy on the sarcasm. She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Please.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Jack said.

“Yeah, well…maybe I’m just jaded.” At Jack’s questioning look, Claire shrugged. “My parents used to be like that. Before…well, before my dad went crazy and left. We were one big happy family before all that happened.”

Her tone was biting and sarcastic. Claire fell silent and stared at the wooden trim of the door frame. She rubbed her thumb over the edge of smooth cherry and frowned deeply.

“My mom…she left me with my grandma a few years ago and went looking for him. When my gran died, I thought she would show up and we could be a family again, but…well, short version is she didn’t and I ended up in the system.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said quietly. Claire snorted.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she bit out, “If that’s the kind of mother she is, then maybe I’m better off.”

“My mother died in childbirth,” Jack told her, “She was never supposed to have children, so when she got pregnant, my father tried to get her to give up the baby.” Claire looked up at him sharply and Jack met her eyes earnestly. “ _Me_. But my mother…she loved me, I guess. She knew the risks, but she still chose to have me anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s what family’s _supposed_ to be like,” Claire said bitterly.

“I’m sure your mother loves you,” Jack told her.

“Pretty sure she doesn’t,” Claire told him, “Why else would she leave?” 

“Maybe she just got lost,” Jack answered.

“For six years?” Claire scoffed at him.

“People get lost for a lot longer than that all the time,” Jack said quietly.

Claire was silent for a long beat, watching the couple in the kitchen. What Castiel told her earlier about choices came back to her. She was sure he would have stayed lost for the rest of his life had he turned Dean away.

“Yeah, okay,” Claire said finally, giving in, “Maybe you’ve got a point. _Maybe_. Doofus.”

Jack frowned at her.

“I’m not a doofus,” he said.

“Sure you are,” she said, “Doof and Doofus.” Claire gestured to Cas, then rolled her eyes when Dean leaned in for _yet another_ kiss. “Looks like dinner’s gonna be awhile,” she continued, “And since you won’t let me steal any booze, which I totally could right now because I mean, _look_ at them—” she gestured toward the two who were now necking in the kitchen, “—then we might as well finish this _stupid_ game of battleship. Maybe I’ll show you some of my master tricks.”

Jack smiled brightly at her and rushed to take his seat.

“It was your turn,” he said.

Claire bounced up after her victory at Battleship to see if dinner was any closer to being done. She wasn’t surprised to find that things hadn’t progressed very far since the last time she had checked, unless she counted the fact that Castiel was now sitting _on_ the counter as Dean kissed him. This was getting ridiculous…and maybe it was time to do something about it.

* * *

A few minutes after leaving Claire and Jack in the dining room with snacks and entertainment found Castiel and Dean standing quietly in the kitchen side by side, both at a cutting board and armed with a chef’s knife as they each took different tasks in preparing dinner.

“Do you think they are getting along?” Castiel asked Dean over the slow, rhythmic _shh-chop, shh-chop_ of his knife sliding through the head of lettuce he was cutting. 

Dean looked up when the chopping sound stopped to see his boyfriend craning his neck to see through to the dining room. He chuckled.

“I’m sure they’re getting along just fine,” Dean said. He finished slicing up the fish and slid the pile of taco-sized fillets onto a paper towel-lined plate where he then proceeded to pat them dry.

Castiel grunted in response and turned back to his task of slicing up taco toppings. He was leaving the fish frying to Dean, who was wearing his ‘ _I rub my meat’_ apron that Jessica had gotten him for Christmas, and who looked every bit in his element. He was in an infectiously good mood tonight for some reason, and it was easy for Castiel to forget his worries and lose himself in it. He grinned at Dean happily.

“What?” Dean asked when he looked up and caught Cas staring.

“Nothing,” Castiel said, grinning wider. Dean shot him a strange look at his sudden suspicious behavior. “You look very good in that apron,” Castiel admitted.

Dean chuckled and pulled him into his arms.

“You know, I like it when _you_ rub my meat even better,” Dean flirted, nosing into his neck.

He pressed his apron up against Castiel’s body, his hands pressed into the small of the other man’s back. Dean brought his lips in close to the sensitive spot just under Castiel’s mandible and talked with his mouth just millimeters from Castiel’s skin, so that he would feel the heat of Dean’s breath but not the satisfaction of his touch.

“If those damn kids weren’t here, I would have you up against this counter in nothing more than the apron,” Dean all but purred. “Guess I’ll have to make do.” He pressed a kiss at Castiel’s pulse point.

Castiel made a weak sound that was embarrassingly close to a whimper and swallowed past the sudden cotton on his tongue.

“ _Dean_ ,” he whined, “Please, not with Jack and Claire in the other room.”

“Fine,” Dean said, straightening, “Later then.”

He kissed Castiel to give the man a taste of what was to come, and also because if he didn’t he was going to _lose his mind_ over how desperate and needy that sound coming out of Castiel’s mouth had been. Of course, he could never be satisfied with just _one_ kiss. Dean pressed Cas backward until his ass bumped up against the cabinet and then Dean scooped him up and sat him on the edge of the counter. He moved closer into the open straddle of Castiel’s legs, who ran both hands through his hair and dug his fingertips into Dean’s scalp so hard that Dean groaned in pleasure.

“ _Fuck_ , Cas,” Dean whispered on an exhale, “You gotta stop that or all bets are off. I’m serious.”

Castiel froze and jerked his hands out of Dean’s hair.

“Sorry!” he blurted out.

Dean laughed, relieved, and ran a shaking hand through his mussed hair.

“Naw, it was good. It was _too_ good, that’s the problem.” He gulped down a breath. “Damn. Here I thought I was gonna miss your hand being in that cast, but if you’re going to do _that_ every night, I don’t think I’ll be missin’ a thing.”

“I didn’t even think about it,” Castiel said, surprised. He grinned at Dean, pleased. “But, I am glad you enjoyed it, and I will most definitely do it again.” He leaned in close to Dean, bringing his lips in close. “The _noise_ you made, Huggy Bear. It was…exquisite,” Castiel all but growled.

Dean whimpered a little himself, and then captured Castiel’s mouth again.

* * *

In the doorway to the kitchen, Claire nudged Jack with her elbow.

“Ready?” she whispered to him.

Jack looked uneasy, but he nodded anyways. Claire had spent the last few minutes convincing him to go along with this little prank, and Jack was an integral part of it because it was his job to video it all. Claire turned her attention back to Dean and Cas, who seemed to have completely forgotten they were supposed to be cooking dinner, and then gestured with her head.

“Follow me,” she said in an undertone. She inched into the kitchen behind them, careful to keep low until she was safely across and behind the breakfast counter. Jack followed after her, skittering past on his hands and knees. He wasn’t very quiet, but he was quick, and practically ran into her when Claire stopped.

She glared at him and mouthed, _“Phone.”_ The other teen nodded and pulled this out of his pocket, opening up the camera app on his phone and setting it so that it would record video. He scooted to the far edge of the breakfast bar and peeked up over the counter where he would have a clear shot. Claire took out her own cell, pulling up the app they were going to be using for this little prank and holding her phone so that it was just above the edge of the breakfast bar where, on the other side, Dean still had Castiel up on the counter with their lips locked together.

Claire nodded to Jack, who started recording. On the screen of her phone, a picture of a blow horn pulsed with a red circle. Claire pressed her thumb down on it with aplomb.

_“BRRRRRRTTTT!!_ ” the noise blared out from her phone, startling the couple on two fronts as she popped up from behind the breakfast bar. “Pretty sure that isn’t sanitary!!” she yelled, laughing loudly at the looks on their faces as they broke apart from their kiss.

Jack giggled from where he was recording, phone shaking a little as he tried his best to stifle his hysterics enough to keep it mostly steady.

Then Dean’s head swiveled to Jack with a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he leveled them on the teenager. Jack’s grew frighteningly wide and he practically dropped the phone as he rabbited for the hallway, Claire skidding along behind him in her stockinged feet as they both fled Dean’s wrath.

“JACK! _CLAIRE!!_ ” Dean yelled. He started to storm toward the two tricksters, but Castiel caught his arm.

“You’ll only make it worse,” he insisted.

“I don’t care, I’m going to do that in _her_ ear, see how she likes it,” Dean said.

“No, you are not,” Castiel told him, slipping off the counter while still keeping a hold on his arm, “You are going to finish cooking before that devil thinks up some new torture for us.”

Dean frowned down the hallway where Claire and Jack had fled.

“Hmph, guess you got a point,” he grumbled.

Castiel grinned slyly behind his back as Dean for once did as he suggested and returned to the stove to start frying the fish. Castiel brought his attention back to the chopping board full of vegetables in front of him, humming Bon Jovi’s, ‘ _Lay Your Hands On Me’_ under his breath.

Later, when the song became stuck in Dean’s head, the other man wouldn’t know what caused it, but Castiel would know why he went to bed well-fucked because of the lyrics Dean whispered in his ear while he came.

* * *

Dinner was later than promised by almost an hour, but what it lacked in punctuality, it more than made up for in flavor. Dean had dredged each small filet in panko breadcrumbs and then fried them to a glistening golden brown. There was a number of bowls and salsas arranged on the table along with the platter of fish and a small plate of warmed soft-shell tortillas, with the guacamole having been scooped into a smaller bowl so that it could also be used as a topping if desired. Dean left the chips on hand for the table to snack on with their meal as well.

The toppings themselves ranged from fresh vegetables like lettuce, tomatoes, olives, onions, and cucumbers, to things like pickled red onions, which the clerk at the store had assured Dean contained a sweet-and-sour tang that would pair well with the fish. He had gotten at least four different kinds of sauces as well at the clerk’s recommendation, one a classic medium salsa, and the others more exotic—salsa verde, a burn-your-eyeballs-out type of hot sauce, and a milder, sweeter, mango-pepper chutney.

“So, Jack,” Castiel said once they were well into eating, “Did anything exciting happen on your first day?”

Jack looked up from his food.

“As a matter of fact, it did! I almost forgot. A guest gave me a tip to give to you. ‘Your favorite regular’ he said to tell you.”

Castiel froze with his taco halfway to his mouth. 

“What?” Castiel blurted out. He set the taco back down.

“Yes,” Jack continued, “He asked about you, and when I told him you no longer work there, he seemed surprised.”

Castiel stared at the teen for a long moment, speechless, and Dean’s looked to him in question. Castiel’s eyes shifted to him quickly, then back to Jack. He cleared his throat then, and seemed to find his voice.

“The tip. Was it… a one-hundred dollar bill by chance?” Castiel asked.

“Yes! How did you know?” Jack said brightly.

“Wait. That’s not the same guy you told me about?” Dean cut in around a bite of taco, “The one who randomly leaves you Benjies?”

Castiel shot him a quick, “Yes, the very same,” and Dean felt his eyebrows rise in interest.

Jack’s face bloomed in understanding as he followed the exchange.

“Oh, I see. He must tip you that a lot. I guess that _would_ stand out,” Jack said.

“Only because he did so anonymously and I could never figure out who he was,” Castel replied, “You’ll find many of the guests at The Plaza are similarly generous.” He smiled as he said this and looked to Dean, who blushed and chuckled, looking down into his plate bashfully. Castiel looked back to the boy grinning across from him. “Jack…did he give you his name?” Castiel asked.

Jack shook his head in response.

“What’d he look like?” Dean asked, jumping back into the conversation.

“He was…Caucasian. About my height… no, a little shorter than that,” Jack described, marking a spot near his forehead with his hand.

“So…short,” Dean concluded. “Anything else?”

“I’m afraid not much,” Jack said, “Brown hair, blue eyes. Defined cheekbones…that’s about all I remember. Anna said he checked in under an alias. She wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

Dean snorted into his margarita.

“Betcha a hundred bucks it was his porn name,” he said.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel reprimanded, shifting his eyes quickly to ‘the kids’.

“What?” Dean said defensively, “They’re old enough to know what porn is, Cas, come on.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to talk about it!” Castiel told him sternly.

“I’d listen to him if I were you, Romeo,” Claire chuckled, leaning back in her chair.

“Claire, sit up straight at the table,” Castiel snapped at her.

“Sure, _Uncle Cas_ ,” Claire said mockingly, which granted her a disapproving frown, but she still listened to him and did as he asked.

Dean raised his eyebrows and smirked a little to himself as they all continued eating.

“So?” he asked after a minute, “You know of anyone that goes by Jack’s description?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, I’m afraid no one comes to mind. It’s very possible it’s a complete stranger, perhaps someone who has heard me singing at Church.”

“Maybe it’s a stalker,” Claire cut in, “Or an ex.”

“Maybe you should stop watching so much reality TV,” Castiel said back to her. He turned to Jack. “Jack, I have no need for that tip. You may keep it. Consider it a congratulations gift on completing your first day of work.” He smiled proudly at the boy.

“Thanks, Uncle Cas!” Jack blurted back at him.

Claire slumped back into her chair.

“Great. No one told me I’d be having dinner with the _Happy Hollisters_ ,” she grumbled under her breath, “Must be nice, being part of a family.”

Her bitter words hung uncomfortably in the air before Jack turned to her and said, “Castiel and I are not related.”

“What? But—don’t be stupid. You call him _Uncle_ Cas,” Claire argued.

Castiel and Dean shared a look, and Castiel went as far as to open his mouth to explain, but Jack beat him to the punch.

“Well, yes, but it’s just for pretense,” Jack explained, “So that Dean and Castiel don’t get in trouble for helping me.” He lowered his voice and leaned in toward her. “You mustn’t tell anyone,” he said, very seriously.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I won’t,” Claire said, leaning away from him. She glanced at Castiel quickly in suspicion, then turned back to Jack. “So what, did your dead-beat dad abandon you too?” she asked.

Jack frowned.

“No. I ran away,” he said, “I told you my father never wanted children?” At Claire’s nod, he continued, “Well…after my mother passed, that never really changed. If anything, it got worse the older I got. I think a part of him still blames me for her death.”

Claire wanted to hate him for that, but she reluctantly nodded.

“Yeah, I get it,” she said. She sat up a little straighter and went back to her meal.

Dinner ended without further conversation, and when Dean announced that there would be dessert, he got a series of groans from around the table.

“What? I didn’t mean _now_ ,” Dean said defensively, standing and stacking everyone's empty plates together. He was pleased to find them all completely void of food. The four of them had obliterated the fish tacos and what remained of the guacamole and chips, which was good since they wouldn’t be nearly as tasty warmed up as leftovers.

“Perhaps we can all play a game while we digest,” Castiel proposed.

“Battleship!” Jack declared in excitement.

“That’s only for two people, doofus,” Claire told him.

“We can play teams?” Jack suggested.

“Hey, I’m game,” Dean said. He nudged Claire, who was helping him cover up the leftover topping bowls. “I’m gonna waste you for that prank you pulled earlier,” he said.

“Yeah right,” Claire replied with a smirk, “You can try.”

With the game already shaping up to become a full-scale war, Castiel stood and began closing up the half-used jars of salsa littered across the table.

“This is sure to end well,” he muttered under his breath.

They split up into teams, as Jack had suggested, with the adults on one team and the teenagers on another.

“Savage rules?” Claire said devilishly to Dean as they set up across from one another at the now-cleared dining room table.

Dean grinned back at her wickedly.

“Savage rules,” he agreed with a decisive nod.

Jack and Castiel shared a confused look. Neither of them knew what that meant.

They quickly found out. ‘Savage rules’ apparently meant ‘anything goes.’ Castiel ended up sitting back with Jack and watching the two troublemakers play. Claire’s stacking strategy paired with Dean’s strategy of constantly moving his ships around was certainly fun to watch, but it also meant that neither one of them made many hits. When the game stretched into an hour-long battle of glib insults being thrown back and forth between the two, Castiel couldn’t help but chime in.

“You realize that a simple grid search would make this go a lot quicker,” he pointed out, “For either strategy.”

It was no secret around the table about what strategies Dean and Claire were using. Both had declared their own as the more sure-fire way to win, and were bent on proving which of them was right.

Dean glanced over at him and with a sly grin said, “Alright, smarty-pants. Why don’t you take over then?”

“Why don’t we call it a draw instead and have dessert?” Castiel suggested, “It is nearly time for Claire to leave.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry, Short Stack. I guess this means we’ll just have to have a rematch game,” Dean said.

“Stop calling me that!” Claire snapped at him.

Dean just laughed and wandered off into the kitchen to get the dessert.

“I think you were winning,” Jack told Claire once he had.

“Yeah, ‘cuz my strategy is better. There’s only so many times you can move your ships around before they start getting cornered in by misses,” she pointed out.

“Neither is the proper way to play,” Castiel cut in.

“Nobody cares,” Claire shot back at him.

“Oof, _direct hit_ ,” Dean said, emerging from the kitchen with a covered platter in his hands. He grinned crookedly at Cas and said, “I think she just sunk your battleship, Ducky,” he teased.

“I simply do not see the appeal of cheating,” Castiel said with clear disapproval.

“’S more fun that way,” Dean told him. He set the platter in the center of the table and took off the cover. “Gents and Lady, I give you, _Flan_.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, shy all of a sudden. “It uh…it’s my first time makin’ it, so if it sucks… uh, my bad.”

“I’m sure it will be wonderful,” Castiel said softly, touching him on the arm. Dean shot him a quick smile in response and began cutting up servings.

Conversation during dessert drifted into plans for the future, particularly Jack’s.

“Have you decided if you are going back to school or not?” Castiel asked the boy, who was now on his second piece of flan.

“I decided to wait until the fall,” Jack replied, “If I go back while everything is so new, and with everyone asking questions about who I am…” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. “In any case, I think I would like to wait.”

Castiel nodded slowly, “That is probably for the best,” he agreed, “Especially since you would be starting in the middle of the year. Perhaps you can play catch-up from now until September so that you do not have to repeat a year,” he suggested.

“You could always get a GED,” Dean said, “That’s what I did.” He shoveled in a bite and then at the look Castiel was giving him, said around it, “What? It counts.”

Castiel merely shook his head.

“He will miss out on all the other benefits of attending a public school,” Castiel pointed out.

“Yeah, okay. Fair enough,” Dean said. He glanced over at Claire. “What about you, Short Stack, you goin’ to school?”

“No, and I’m not going to college either,” she said. She looked up at Castiel and glared. “So you can just drop it.”

“Claire—” Castiel started, but Dean touched him on the arm and shot him a look that said, _‘Let me handle this’_.

“You know… ’s gonna be hard to find a job without a GED, at least,” Dean said, “You might want to reconsider that.”

“I’ll manage,” Claire said shortly, picking at her flan.

“He has a point,” Castiel said to Claire, no longer able to keep quiet, “I could help you to study, perhaps. I—”

“I don’t want your help,” Claire interrupted him.

“Then perhaps I could—” Castiel started to say.

“I said I don’t want your help!” Claire snapped at him. She shoved to her feet. “Anyway, I should go,” she mumbled bitterly, staring at the table, “They lock the doors after curfew.”

“We would let you stay here, if that happened,” Castiel told her softly, frowning.

“Yeah, no offense, but I think I’d rather take my chances sleeping in the park,” Claire bit back at him.

Castiel looked at her crestfallen, but she refused to look at him. Dean placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and rose to his feet.

“I’ll take her,” he said gently, giving Cas’s shoulder a pat.

Castiel shot him a look that was equal parts grateful and relieved. He understood that Dean offering to drive Claire back meant that he would get a chance to talk to her.

“Come on, Short Stack,” Dean said to Claire, who glared at him but otherwise followed.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Jack said, a little forlornly as the two filtered out of the room, with Claire leaving her half-eaten dessert where it was. He pouted when she didn’t answer him, and Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder.

“She is angry, Jack. Don’t take it personally,” Castiel told the boy quietly. He caught Dean’s gaze as the man turned to leave, and nodded imperceptibly to him, wordlessly telling Dean that he would take care of Jack.

“Come on, time for the dishes,” Castiel said once he heard the front door close. 

“Castiel,” Jack said, looking up at him, “Claire doesn’t…hate me, does she?”

Castiel squeezed the boy’s shoulder. 

“No, Jack. She was merely upset. In fact, I think she secretly likes you,” Castiel said.

“Oh. Well…good.” Jack paused, then looked up at Cas and said brightly, “I think she likes you too, Uncle Cas. She is just too embarrassed to admit it.”

Castiel smiled warmly, if rather painfully at the boy.

“Thank you, Jack. Come, let’s clean up and then perhaps I can show you the _proper_ way to win at battleship before I take you home. _Without_ cheating.”

Jack grinned at him and nodded, following him with the dirty dishes into the kitchen. The teen pulled out his phone and put on something techno-pop and upbeat, which seemed to be the teen’s favorite kind of music. The pair stood at the sink, shoulder to shoulder, with Jack humming and Castiel tapping along with a spoon to the beat of the music. Before long the two of them were singing out loud and flicking soap suds at one another when the other would least expect it.

By the time they were done, Castiel could tell that Jack had forgotten all about his hurt feelings, and hoped that Dean was having similar luck with Claire.

* * *

Dean let the silence in the car marinate for a good five minutes before saying anything.

“You know he just wants what’s best for you, right?” he said bluntly. 

Claire was silent for a minute, giving no indication she had heard him, or that his words had even made an impact. She continued to stare out the window at the passing cab drivers. Dean knew they had though, because he was pretty sure he had figured Claire out from the moment they met.

“Personally, I don’t see the point,” Dean continued, “I mean, you clearly don’t care, so why bother? No offense. I think you’re a great kid, but a person’s gotta _want_ to be helped. Cas…I think he would save the whole world if he could, but the problem is that the world doesn’t _want_ saving. Doesn’t mean he won’t try, though.”

Dean fell silent, letting his words hang in the air between them. After a minute, he heard Claire give a soft scoff.

“Yeah, well…he’s a doof.”

The beginnings of a smug grin tugged at the corners of Dean’s lips. It disappeared as Claire asked, just as quietly, “Why does he _care_ so freakin’ much?”

“Cuz it’s _Cas_ ,” Dean answered her matter of factly, shrugging, “And that’s just who he is.”

Claire grunted and slumped against the window. She seemed dissatisfied with his answer and didn’t speak for the rest of the car ride.

When Dean pulled up to the curb and put Baby in park, Claire shoved open the door and for a moment Dean thought she was going to leave without saying anything else, but then she paused as she was halfway out of the car.

“I don’t hate him,” she said. She hesitated before adding, “Maybe you can tell him that for me. And…tell him I’m sorry…for earlier. Jack too.”

Dean felt a rather proud smile stretch across his face.

“Sure thing, Short Stack,” he said, “Night.”

Claire ducked her head into the car and glared at him.

“I told you to quit calling me that!” she snapped at him.

“You did,” Dean replied with a smirk, “I’m like you, I guess. I just don’t listen.”

Claire groaned in frustration.

“Fine. See you around, _old man_ ,” she said.

“ _Hey!_ ” Dean blurted out, but Claire had already slammed the door in his face.

He glared at her through the glass. She smirked at him and gave him a two-fingered salute before turning and practically skipping up the stairs to the Group Home.

“Brat,” Dean mumbled under his breath as he put Baby in drive and pulled away from the curb. He’d put that exchange down as a draw. Still, mission accomplished. Dean hoped Castiel was having better luck with Jack.

* * *

The apartment was empty when Dean returned, and somehow the contrast from earlier, with how lively everything had been with Claire and Jack here made the silence feel almost lonely. The feeling didn’t linger long, however, because not twenty minutes after arriving back at their loft, Dean heard the front door open, and then Castiel appeared in the doorway to their bedroom.

“Hey, there he is,” Dean said in greeting, looking up. He was in bed on his laptop, and closed it when Cas came in. “How’s Jack?” he asked.

Castiel strode into the room and started undressing, pulling on his sleeping clothes as he answered.

“He is fine. We played a game of battleship after you left,” he said, “How was Claire?”

“She’s fine,” Dean said, echoing the other man’s response. He held the covers open for Cas to slip in beside him. The man scooted in close to his side, propping up against the pile of fluffy hotel pillows that he’d gotten Dean for Christmas. “She wasn’t actually angry, you know.”

“I couldn’t be sure,” Castiel said. He dropped his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, what am I going to do with her? I am trying to help her but it doesn’t feel like I am getting anywhere. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Dean chuckled lightly at that and drew an arm around Cas’s waist, pulling him in closer. He ran a hand through Cas’s hair slowly, rhythmically, as he considered his answer.

“Look, just don’t give up on her, okay? She acts tough, but she’s just scared, Cas. Scared of getting hurt again. Anger is her defense—it’s how she convinces the world she’s not afraid, but it’s just an act,” Dean said.

“How can you be so sure?” Castiel asked him, lifting his head up off Dean’s shoulder and turning to peer intently at him.

Dean stopped stroking his hair and frowned. If he was honest, he wasn’t thrilled about having this conversation—he’d much rather press Castiel back into the pillows and maybe ruin one or both of them—but the concern in Castiel’s voice told him that the move probably wouldn’t be appreciated. He gave Cas a halfhearted shrug.

“Because I went through something similar when my mom died,” he confessed, “Said a lot of things I didn’t mean back then to people who were just trying to help. Hurt a couple people I cared about. Drank too much and did _a lot_ of things I regret.” He shrugged again. “So, I get it.”

Castiel sighed and dropped his head back on Dean’s shoulder.

“I want to help her,” Castiel said forlornly, “Dean, how do I help her?”

“Be real with her,” Dean told him, “And don’t take anything she says personally. She felt bad, for earlier. She told me to tell you she doesn’t hate you.”

“Well,” Castiel said, a bit sarcastically, “It’s a start, I suppose.”

The conversation fell away, and this time Dean _did_ press a kiss to Castiel’s neck and shift them so that he was laying back against the pillows. He kissed Castiel fully on the lips, licking into his mouth and sliding his tongue slowly, enticingly along his. Castiel let out a soft hum of contentment and pressed back against him. His hands came up to thread through Dean’s hair. Dean deepened the kiss, and sure enough, Castiel groaned into his mouth and dug his fingertips into Dean’s scalp, dragging a noise of immense pleasure from somewhere low in his throat.

“God, I love your hands,” Dean said, pulling back only enough to say it. He dived back in to Castiel’s mouth. “Scratch that. Your tongue. And…well, your everything,” Dean murmured against Castiel’s lips the next time they pulled apart.

Castiel hummed.

“Yours is quite talented as well,” he said. His eyes flickered to Dean’s laptop, which was still on the edge of the bed. “You should move that before it ends up on the floor,” he said, “What were you doing, anyway?”

Dean moved the computer over to the night stand and thought up a quick fib.

“I was looking at island vacation packages,” he said, stretching out on his side, next to Cas. It wasn’t entirely a lie—it was on his list of things to do. What he’d really been doing was looking up things like, ‘how to ask your significant other’s parents for their hand’ and ‘how to propose’, and ‘what to do if your significant other says no,’ but Cas couldn’t know that.

“You were serious about Aruba?” Castiel asked him, his brow furrowing. Dean shrugged.

“If you want,” he said, “But…guess I wasn’t really thinking about how you just started your teaching gig. So…maybe we should put it off for a while.”

“Yes, that would be best,” Castiel agreed. He smiled, loving how Dean knew exactly what he had been about to say without having to say it. He snuggled closer into Dean’s side and pressed a kiss at his sternum. “I would very much like to have you on a beach, though,” he said in a low rumble.

“Yeah?” Dean asked him, propping himself up on an elbow so that he could peer down at Cas. The man smiled up at him and nodded.

“Hmm, yes. Warm sand and clear water and… _you_ , naked and sun-kissed on a beach towel…” Castiel trailed off and rolled them, pressing kisses down Dean’s bare chest.

“Okay, but we’re not doing it _on_ the beach,” Dean said, huffing and quivering at the tantalizing things Cas was doing with his tongue, “Trust me, I’ve tried it. The sand gets fuckin’ _everywhere_ , and not in a good way. Did’ja know you can get sand burns? Cuz I sure as hell didn’t.” Castiel paused in his administrations and laughed into Dean’s navel. Dean squirmed under him and grumbled, “Hey, that tickles. I was being serious.”

“I know,” Castiel said, crawling back up to kiss him on the mouth, “That’s why it was funny.” He leaned back to stare at Dean with a wide, gummy smile.

Dean slipped a hand behind Castiel’s neck and played with the strands of his hair at its base, then traced his thumb along the other man’s lower lip and up across the strong line of his jaw. It was rough with his late-night scruff.

“I love you,” Dean murmured, peering serenely into Castiel’s stunning blue eyes.

Castiel sighed and leaned in to cover his mouth with a soft, tender kiss. He didn’t say it back, nor did he need to. Dean could feel it in the careful way Castiel kissed him, and opened his mouth further to allow his lover easier access. He relaxed back into the pillows, hands on either sides of Castiel’s hips as the man straddled his lap and kissed him languidly for what felt like hours. A feeling of warmth bloomed in Dean’s chest, and for once he had no intentions of moving things along like he normally would. He was content with the kissing, with the heavy, comforting weight of Castiel in his lap as the man framed his face and ran soft fingers through his hair, and he knew— _somehow_ —that everything was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Okay, before y’all get out the torches and pitchforks, I AM NOT writing in any terminal illnesses. I would NEVER do that to my darling readers. (Any coming conflict will have a resolution that turns out for the better, because that's just how I like to write. Happy endings all around, folks.) I only wrote that scene because I’m tired of writing “he grabbed a condom” AND because it’s a natural next step for committed partners. 
> 
> I’ve been getting flashes of wedding scenes lately, so that's super exciting! But that’s not for another…oh, 100,000 words or so. At least. I upped the chapter limit to 40...and I'm starting to think it may even be more than that. :Db
> 
> My apologies for the long wait. Had a LOT of shit go down around the holidays and needed a break. Also spent most of the month working on another story, [ _The Necklace_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29178690), so CHECK THAT SHIT OUT. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed. ;)
> 
> You can expect updates from me every 2 weeks or so from here on out... Sometimes longer, if it’s needed. I’m getting into the complicated, sticky bits near to the climax so things might take longer to eke out, but I've got a clear sense of where things are going. In the beginning I can just write like The Flash, make up a bunch of shit willy nilly, throw in a lot of filler and fluff, but the end I gotta like…bring all that shit I threw together in the pot and serve it up and hope it doesn’t leave a bad flavor in the mouth. I may also be starting an original work of fiction (partly inspired by this story) in the next few months as well, which could slow things down BUT I will keep posts no more than a month apart. That much I can promise. :)
> 
> That being said, I absolutely _adore_ writing Jack and Claire, and I'm excited to continue with Claire's mini plot (and a couple more besides) before I get to the big stuff. 
> 
> Did everyone enjoy the Dr. Sexy cameo? Becky? The return of Tessa? XD I love it every time a character pops into my brain and says, "HEY! I want in!" If anyone has any requests for background characters that have yet to make an appearance, I'm all ears. (I would really like to add in Rowena, but I haven't found a place for her yet.) 
> 
> Who else is curious about Castiel's secret tipper? I've been dropping some super subtle hints for a WHILE now. :3
> 
> As always, dear readers, please comment and let me know what you think! It really helps to keep the creative juices flowing! And don't forget to follow me on [ tumblr ](https://ribbons-undone.tumblr.com/) for random updates on my writing and nauseating amounts of Destiel shitposting. THANK YOU ALL for reading! I LOVE YOU!! STAY. AWESOME!!! :D


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